Free At Last
by Peregrine2
Summary: Alternate Universe: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a road trip with his aunt, Duncan fights for his life, and Veronica tries to help Logan put the last nail in Aaron's coffin. Completed.
1. Wanderlust

**Title**: Free at Last  
**Author**: Peregrine  
**Characters**: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.  
**Spoilers**: Through Episode 22.  
**Rating**: R for language and violence.  
**Summary**: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.  
**Disclaimer**: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.

**Note**: Chapter titles and lyric fragments are taken from David Sylvian's brilliant compilation, Everything and Nothing. The mood of this album heavily influenced my writing of this story.

**Chapter One: Wanderlust**

_Travel light, don't think twice  
We're leaving the shadows behind._

Logan

I follow Monique through the phalanx of paparazzi and search for her fancy ride. "What the hell?" My mutter is overheard by someone from the Times, who shoves his microphone in my face and asks if he can quote me. "Get the fuck away from me."

"Is that your _last_ word?"

Monique turns on him and glares at his press tag (Marvin Hernandez). "Shove off, _vato_."

The reporter's face darkens and we are gone before he can retaliate. "_Classy_."

"You should talk." She's got a point.

"I limit my attacks to the locals."

"Bet you're #1 with a bullet." Monique looks around with a frown. "Where's your car?"

"Two blocks south." I start to move in that direction and she easily matches my stride without breaking a sweat. "So you expect _me_ to chauffer you around?"

She tosses back her hair and the quick grace of her hands reminds me of Mom. "I'm sorry, but my cars are in Sausalito."

My eyebrows rise at her offhand tone. "_Cars_?"

Monique stumbles on a crack in the sidewalk like a nervous colt. "Yes, I'm rather good with my hands and I—_what_?"

A snerk blows through my lips and is deflected by her sudden grin. "DK can attest to that."

She rolls her eyes and groans when we come up to the XTerra. "_Merde_. Aaron picked this out, yes?"

I laugh. "Gee, how'd you guess?"

Monique looks between my somber suit and the car. "Must've gotten one _hell_ of a bargain. He always was a cheap bastard."

"No kidding," I reply with a tight smile. "The buck always stopped with Dad." Too bad he didn't apply that same philosophy to the belt.

Aaron

Aaron hates Rock Mountain. He hates that he has to lower himself to the level of these primates that surround him. He hates that his orange jumpsuit clashes with his complexion and turns his expensively capped teeth into lupine yellow.

He despises the fact that his new "wife" is a gap-toothed hobo from City Heights who's never heard of Break Point or Beyond the Breaking Point. He dislikes everything about his new life, but he's determined to tough it out and show these guys what he's made of.

The only visitors are his lawyer and Trina and when he asks about Logan, he is met with stony silence. He only finds out the truth when someone leaves a newspaper in the john and he sees his son and Lynn's sister plastered on the front page. With a sinister smile, Aaron remembers the day he had his way with little Monique, arm jutting across her windpipe as he fucked her. She is effectively silenced by his threats to expose her, and he vows that if he catches up with her again, he'll silence her for good.

Duncan

I watch them walk away and wonder if Logan will ever come home. When I hoofed it out of here, it wasn't so bad. I got to act like a bum and there were no responsibilities. No one nagging me to take my meds or keep my room clean, and no worrying about my GPA or my crappy SAT scores. All in all, Cuba was a very good choice for someone like me. But it will be different for Logan. Monique may be a bit of a nutter, but I get the feeling she'll keep after him.

For me, there was nothing to come back to. Oh, yeah, there's the whole 'rental thing, but that's not what I mean. And I don't even mean my fair-weather friends, because they are pure Latex (utterly disposable). No, what I really mean is that there was no chance with Veronica. _Ever_.

I knew it when she kissed Troy. And I sensed it when I saw her dancing with Deputy Dawg. And I guess it started to hit home on that day when I was running the dance committee and saw her with my best friend. But the part of my brain that refused to believe she was my sister took over and pushed my feelings back to center stage. And nothing that's happened since has pushed those emotions back to the sidelines.

The hurt came roaring out when she confronted me and tore me in two when I saw them link hands at Logan's party. I took it out on the Benz that night and was sorely tempted to take Logan apart less than 12 hours ago. I guess you can say that my cold and rather dead sister slowed me down and made me see reason. I loved Lilly more than most people, but she was dead and I wasn't real keen on being harassed by her shade. Yeah, there was a reason she called me Donut, and much as I hate the nickname, there was a ring of truth mixed in with the sisterly snark. So even as I reviled myself for backing down, I saw that Lilly was mostly right. Smacking down a willing victim whose body bore testimony to his status as a human punching bag was _not_ on my agenda. Lilly's threat about Veronica also stayed with me. Veronica and Logan were my last links to my sister, and if they were removed from the picture, then my already pitiful life would be reduced to nothing.

Veronica and her father move past me and she casts a sideways glance that kindles me with its flash of warmth. Her beautiful blue eyes are quickly shuttered as she covers her face with her arm and jumps into her Dad's car. The mob of reporters rushes after them and a small smile crosses my face as I stand on the periphery, once again forgotten by the masses.

Veronica

Logan is really gone this time. His car zips past ours on its way out of town and he toots his horn and raises a hand that quickly disappears as the XTerra dips down a hill. My father spares me a glance as he turns down our street and asks, "What did the judge want?"

Dad would spot a lie in a second, but there is no simple answer to his question. "I'm not sure. She never showed up."

He makes a face and I can see that he doesn't believe me. "That doesn't make sense."

I shrug. "Maybe she got her signals crossed."

"_Maybe_. Was Logan there too?" he asks quietly.

"Yes. I wished him good luck."

"He'll need it." That is probably the understatement of the century. "I hope his time away helps him."

"Me too." Dad doesn't know Logan too well. He was always Lilly's boyfriend and hovered in the background of my existence. But now that our romantic interlude has been exposed, Dad has been looking at Logan in a different light, and I'm not sure he likes what he sees.

He parks the car and forces a cheerful tone, "Duncan still coming over tonight for burgers and dogs?"

"I hope so." My Dad wants me to be happy, and he seems to think that Duncan is part of that process. I return his smile and know I did the right thing by keeping my rape to myself. He unlocks the door and I continue to think about the rape that _wasn't_—only in my mind, it _was_ and still _is_. Time might heal some wounds, but I don't think it will completely fix what is wrong with me. And while I might try to skate past the pain, it keeps slipping me up when I least expect it.

Logan

DK is right. Monique is a piece of work. After we swing by her ex's bachelor pad to pick up her gear, she starts to spill everything she knows about the Lester clan. Grandpa Dave is a staunch Republican who adores the Red Sox and mainlines Laphroaig like it's lemonade. He surrounds himself with women and dogs (not necessarily in that order), bets on the ponies, and plays a round of golf at Farm Neck on alternating Saturdays.

His third wife Sally is a Green Party advocate who drives a tiny Honda Insight and spends much of her time in P-town with her gay friends. When she's on the Island, she holds court at The Black Dog and drives around with her gal pals to estate sales, which are _the_ social events of the year.

She finishes with her own French relatives and speaks of them with a rare show of warmth. Simone is the grande dame of le Cote d'Azur society and is known high and low for her hospitality. Ex-husband Gerard is an independent film producer who stuck around long enough to father Danielle, who lives in Monique's Marin County digs and attends grad school at Berkley.

It's only after we hit LA that I realize she's told me nothing about herself. "What about you? What have you done with your life?"

Monique lights up a Gitane and drops her hand out the window. With a smile, she leans her head back against the seat and puts her bare feet on the dashboard. "Before or after the Pulitzer Prize?"

She tosses that out with a casual arrogance that makes me twitch with annoyance. "_Actually_," I say nastily, "I'd like to hear about the guy who slit your throat."

Her free hand strokes the scar absently as she takes a drag. "That was a _long_ time ago." Monique exhales and smiles over at me, knowing that I am baiting her and refusing to lower herself to my level.

"And he's kind of dead, right?" I persist, if only to get a rise out of her and prove that a heart beats beneath that cold exterior.

She mutters something unsavory in French and I smile triumphantly. "Yes. _Very_ dead."

I eye the satchel at her feet with a slightly nervous smile. "You packing heat?"

Monique sighs like it's the dumbest question in the world. "Yes, are you?"

_Shit_. "What if I am?"

Her lips twitch slightly. "Hope you have a license."

If _only_. On one of my many trips to TJ, I found a street vendor with untraceable, silver Glocks and a dazzling array of ammunition. "At my age?"

"Oh, _right_." Monique isn't the slightest bit bothered by my admission that I'm carrying, and her next statement floors me. "Well, if I lived in that house with that horrible man, I'd also be armed to the teeth."

My mouth opens and shuts and I end up gnawing on my lower lip for a long beat. "How did you know?" She and I barely know each other and my abuse is hardly public knowledge.

"_Know_?" she echoes. "It was all over the news."

I quickly realize that she's referring to Lilly's murder, not the swath of scar tissue that mottles my back. "_Right_. How could I forget?"

Her mossy green eyes fasten on me like agates and weigh me down with a weird mixture of sympathy and blinding pain. With a sigh, she turns back to the window and a strained silence fills the space between us.

Duncan

My parents don't know what to do with me. Mom is in perpetual hand-wringing mode and Dad's brow is forever furrowed. I think they're wondering if aliens abducted their sweet Duncan and left a stranger in his place. Or maybe I'm one of those changelings that the faerie people left behind. Because honestly? I'm right there with them. I feel like I've lost my way and don't recognize myself in the mirror.

Bloodshot eyes and a haze of five o'clock shadow greet me when I get back from the courthouse and I decide that hirsute is the new me. The fact that Mom hates it convinces me that this look is a keeper. If I keep it untrimmed, I might be able to cultivate crops or host a family of birds. With a smile, I drop into a chair and turn on my flat panel. Gilligan and Ginger are frolicking in TV Land and Mary Ann and the Skipper can't be far behind. My thumb conjures up channel after channel of drivel and five minutes is all I can take before I shut down the set and throw the remote in a drawer.

I spot a pile of summer reading and decide to float in the pool and dive into _Silas Marner_. It takes a few minutes to locate my swim gear and I grab some sunscreen on my way downstairs. My parents are thankfully absent and I float out to the middle of the pool with Squire Cass and William Dane to keep me company. _Whee_, what fun. A half hour turns into an hour and I realize that I'm stuck on the same page. It's an easy toss to the chaise lounge where Lilly was sitting when she died and I start to feel like she's watching me. When I squint against the sun, her face flares like a corona and burns itself into my retinas. _'Don't forget me, Donut' _is her whispered mantra and I gasp when her features implode and dissolve into thin air.

"I _won't_," I whisper, shivering under the July sun and clutching my arms to my sides. The water laps at my float and slowly propels me into the deep end. When I reach the ladder, I climb out and decide that Silas Marner and chlorine are a bad combination. I walk back to the house and grab a sandwich from the plate in the fridge. Mindless chewing reduces it to mush that I wash down with a glass of milk. Food never meant much to me and it's even less important now. I glance at my watch and see that I have five hours to kill before I chow down with the Mars clan. What _will_ I do with myself? Stay here and rot or drive around aimlessly and hope for salvation? An idea pops into my head and I decide to visit Lilly's grave. It's the last place they'll look for me, and if I get bored, I can always catch up on my sleep.

Veronica

5:00 passes and Duncan has yet to grace us with his presence. My Dad and I munch companionably on burgers and dogs and stare out at the ocean. He is probably thinking about Alicia and the investigator he plans on hiring and I am thinking of the two boys who love me. They might not see it this way, but they are far more alike than different. In their own way, they both come from broken homes. Duncan's parents only stay together out of convenience and Logan's are dead to him. Duncan's mother drugs him and Logan's father beats him. And back in the day, Lynn and Celeste used to play a mean hand of bridge while Jake and Aaron hit the back nine at Torrey Pines. Who could have ever guessed that it would come to this? And here I am, sitting with the only person who has never let me down, barely thinking of the mother who robbed us blind and skipped town. We don't talk about it, but I know Dad is looking for her. What happens on the day he finds her? Will he really have her thrown in jail?

And just when I think that Duncan is a no-show, his Benz squeals into the lot and jerks to a stop as he hits the brakes. He jumps out and runs up to us with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry I'm late. I kind of overslept and well…here I am."

Duncan shakes my Dad's hand and smiles at me with a hesitance that I haven't seen in a long time. "Hey," he says as he helps himself to some food and sits on the very edge of the picnic table.

My Dad gets up and announces, "Well, you two have a good visit. I'm supposed to meet Alicia in a few minutes."

I make a face at his back and smile at his obviousness. "See ya."

Duncan waits until my Dad is out of earshot and asks, "Was it something I said?"

"Nope, he's just pulling his Yente routine."

He snorts like he knows he's supposed to laugh, but he clearly doesn't get the reference. After a long pause, Duncan asks, "Umm…who's Yente?"

"The matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof."

His face turns pink as he digs into his food. I wait for the inevitable question and close my eyes when he throws it out for discussion. "Doesn't your Dad know about Logan?"

I shake my head. "Uh-uh."

"So he thinks that you and I are—" I hear the hope in his voice that he quickly buries behind a nervous laugh.

"_Yeah_." With a shrug, I help myself to a hotdog and sit back down on the bench.

Duncan shifts closer and I throw him a sideways glance when he touches my shoulder. "Why'd you lie to me, Veronica?"

God, it should never have come to this. I should have been straight with him from the start. "I didn't lie…_exactly_."

"Then what do you call it? You said you still cared about me and I believed you," he cried.

"That _wasn't_ a lie, Duncan."

"Really? So what were you doing with Logan yesterday? Why weren't you with me? Why was I stuck in his hotel room while you two stole my car and had your way with each other?" Duncan rubbed his stubble and I saw the tears shining in his eyes before he turned away from me.

I try to gather my storm of thoughts into coherence. "I don't—"

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. "_Don't_ make excuses, Veronica. I saw your letter and your journal and the pictures he drew while you were sleeping."

You know that sinking feeling? Well, the Titanic doesn't even come close to the dip in my stomach. "What _pictures_?" I croak.

Duncan smiles unpleasantly. "He has a sketchpad, and there was this picture of you with no clothes on."

There's a sharp edge to his voice that tells me he's enjoying this. "I see."

His answering laugh cuts deep. "Sure you do. No _wonder_ they say love is blind. I mean, why else would you choose him over me? The guy lies to you about Lilly, and he's still lying to you."

I grow very still as the anger I've suppressed comes creeping back, reminding me that Duncan is no saint. He slept with me with the full knowledge that I might be his sister and never said a word to me. And when the truth came out, he never once apologized for his actions. He manhandled me on several occasions and never thought that he might be hurting me. "Feel better now?"

His azure eyes burn into mine and I see the answer before he nods. "Yeah."

"You _shouldn't_."

His cheeks redden slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you're no better than he is. You come over here pretending to be his friend and spend your time putting him down."

Duncan hangs his head for a second, but his gaze is hardly contrite when it returns to my face. "I know you don't see this, but I'm trying to protect you."

My laugh burns through my throat like sulfuric acid. "Now _where_ have I heard that before?" I get to my feet and start to turn away when he grabs me elbow and spins me around. Before I can form a thought, his mouth is on mine, twisting and turning as he grinds his lips into mine angrily, forcing my lips open with his ravening tongue and groaning when I press back against him, hating myself as I give in to the twisted stew of desire that roils inside me.


	2. The Golden Way

**Title**: Free at Last  
**Author**: Peregrine  
**Characters**: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.  
**Spoilers**: Through Episode 22.  
**Rating**: K+ for language and violence.  
**Summary**: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.  
**Disclaimer**: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.  
**Note**: Chapter titles and lyric fragments are taken from David Sylvian's brilliant compilation, Everything and Nothing. The mood of this album heavily influenced my writing of this story.

**Chapter Two: The Golden Way**

_The shadows emerge from night into day  
And rally through lifetime in anger and rage_

Duncan

I feel Veronica cave in and as I start to soften the kiss, she pushes my chest and steps backward. Her color is high as she intones, "Stay away from me, Duncan."

Her breath streams out and I know I've gotten to her. "Why, are you afraid you might feel _something_ after all this time?"

Veronica's eyes narrow at my smug tone. "_Afraid?_ Of contempt? _Hardly_."

I purse my lips. "You kissed me back. Do you expect me to believe that you didn't enjoy it?"

She pins me to the spot with her death glare. "Is _that_ how you rationalized your behavior at Shelly's party?"

My jaw tightens with emotion and I struggle to stay cool as I reach out for her. "Veronica, that was—"

"_Don't_!" She eludes my grasp and folds her arms across her chest as she paces around the picnic table. "Maybe you're over it, but _I_ don't have that luxury. You've had 18 months to heal, but to me, it's like it only happened last week."

My restless fingers find my pockets and lodge there as I say, "I thought we discussed this already. I thought you were OK with it."

Red blooms on her cheeks as she sputters, "H-how did you come to that conclusion?"

"Oh, let's see, you snuck into my house and we viewed those tapes together and sort of had a moment where you admitted I wasn't your brother, and I guess I thought we were cool."

Veronica shakes her head at my obvious ignorance. "You were mistaken, and if you honestly think I could be with you after you…after that night…" Her voice cracks with raw emotion that sends her spinning away from me and across the river of asphalt.

I stand there helplessly as her blonde head disappears inside, my fingers ripping my paper plate into shreds. When I look down at the mess I've created, I decide that it's a good illustration of my fucked up life. With a sigh, I toss out my trash and move on, knowing that things are really over between us.

Marin County

Logan

Monique is King Midas in Reverse. She doesn't look or dress the part, but her money is hidden in her property, which is some of the best coastal real estate in Marin. Her modest white house is tucked away behind a stand of aspen trees that cascade down a hill to a private beach.

"What is this place worth?" I stretch my arms and legs and try not to notice how badly my car clashes with the surroundings.

She raises an eyebrow and says, "If you have to ask, then it's clearly out of your price range."

"I'm not in the market, but I'll be sure to keep it in mind." My last few dollars are burning a hole in my pocket and I'm dying to spend them.

Monique spots someone at the door and gives an odd little hop and a wave. "Danni's home," she squeals, rushing forward and scooping up her tiny sister in a bear hug. After she's kissed both cheeks, she pulls her sister forward and presents her to me. "Logan, this is Danielle. And Danni? This is Lynn's son."

Danni's sparkling green eyes are the only common link between her and Monique and I suspect that they run in the d'Argent family. She nods politely and shakes out her dark hair with one hand. "Enchante," she says, extending her hand and throwing me a friendly smile that is a notch warmer than anything I've seen on her sister's face. "Will you be staying with us long?"

I laugh and shrug my shoulders. "Don't think so. Monique is shipping me off to the East Coast."

Danni looks between the two of us. "Is there something I should know?"

Monique launches into rapid French and her sister is soon placated. "Lucie should have dinner ready. Are you hungry?"

We've made fast food runs for the past few days and I'm ready to eat the side of a barn. "Hell, yes. Show me the way."

Monique unloads her gear from the car and hoists my pack over her strong shoulders. As I trail behind her, I can't help but admire her sculpted body, which she's mostly kept hidden under baggy shirts and loose pants. Her sister is softer and rounder and I suspect that Monique's muscles are the result of hard work and a lot of sweat. We reach a five-car garage and she points to the stairs. "You can sleep in the loft. Dinner is at 6."

Aaron

Aaron adores his fans. He especially loves his fan club and all their efforts. They've taken out two different Variety ads and raised over half a million dollars for his legal defense. They've spouted to the press about the way that Aaron was being railroaded and they've been arrested for vandalizing Lilly Kane's grave. He secretly applauds them, but he cannot acknowledge their actions. His lawyer (Todd Miller) advises him to deny everything and steer clear of fanatics, and for once, Aaron has to agree with him. The man is publicly appointed and appears every Thursday with news from home. Today, Aaron gets to give him the good news that he will no longer need his services.

With a well-practiced smile, he sits with patiently folded hands and greets Todd as he stumbles through the visiting room door. "You're looking good, Todd. How's the wife treating you?" Todd is newly married to his high school sweetheart and seems surprised that Aaron knows his background.

"Very good, thanks. How about you?"

Aaron bares his teeth at the young man and suppresses a snarl. "I'm just _great_, Todd. How about some good news for a change?"

Todd smiles shakily. "The judge finally set bail."

"How much?"

"250,000 dollars."

Aaron's smile widens. "That's great. How soon can we post bail?"

The lawyer stammers, "B-but I thought…you don't have access to your money right now."

"Normally, that would be true, but I received a gift from my fans. I can have a cashier's check in your hands by this afternoon."

Todd wipes the sweat off his forehead. "I'll call your bank."

"Very good," Aaron says as he watches the lawyer gather up his things. "Oh, and Todd? I won't be needing you after today."

Todd actually seems relieved by this news. "Who will be representing you?"

Aaron stares through his steepled fingers and pulls a name out of the air. "Stella Rheinhart."

Todd nods in recognition. "Then you have a fighting chance." The lawyer departs and leaves Aaron with the first stab of hope he's felt since his arrest.

Veronica

I dial up my most depressing playlist and listen to Robert Smith groaning about hanging gardens and dripping faucets. My mind wanders and turns to Logan, who's probably having the time of his life with Aunt Money. I think about calling him but something temporarily stops me from making that connection. Logan needs a break from all this. He needs to put Neptune behind and focus on his future. Maybe I'm part of that picture and maybe I'm not. All I know is that I love him, but that might not be enough.

The song changes to a fuzzed out version of Purple Haze and it seems like the right time to think about Duncan's kiss. I shouldn't have led him on. On that day that he saved my butt from a summer at the food bank, I should have told him that Logan and I were back together. But I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't wipe that hopeful expression off his face. It breaks my heart to hurt him, because part of me will always love him, but not in the way that he'd like. He was my first love, and some of that lives on. And he carries a tiny part of Lilly that I see on the fleeting occasions when he cracks a joke, moments that pass by in the blink of an eye. And he's Logan's friend, with all the 'for better or worse' baggage that comes with the territory. So he'll always be special to me.

But that kiss? Shouldn't have happened. It stirred powerful emotions, but it all pointed to the dark tides of rage that swam in both of us. And a kiss born of anger is hardly a kiss at all. It hurts as it tears its way through us, but in the end, the afterburn is hardly worth the effort. So I think about Duncan's smoldering blue eyes and the way he gripped my arms and I know that he's not the boy I fell in love with. His gaze is a changed landscape—the unchartered territory of the madman and one that terrifies me with its emptiness.

Logan

Dinner is a complicated mix of California fusion and drizzled vinaigrette over goat cheese and assorted greens. I am the last one to arrive and am happy to see that it's a casual affair. Nothing worse than traveling for two days and being expected to dress up. Danielle smiles at me and sips at a glass of Chardonnay (Mom would approve), but I see that my spot and Monique's are utterly devoid of alcohol. "What the hell is this?" I stare down at my water glass with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? This is a dry house," Monique explains with a small smile.

"Then why is she drinking?" I glare pointedly at Danielle's glass.

"_She_ supplies her own liquor."

Danielle is vastly amused by this exchange but knows enough to keep her mouth shut. I merely frown and stick my fork into a pile of beet roots. "I thought the French were famous for their wine."

"And their cheese too," Monique whines in an uncanny impression of me.

"Haha, that's totally hilarious. Why do _I_ have to get stuck with the only French teetotaler on the planet?"

She rolls her eyes. "You expected what, non-stop fun and continuous open bar?"

I am more annoyed by the fact that she's pegged me than the lack of good grape. "No, actually, I was hoping you could keep me in Huggies and juice boxes for the rest of my life."

Monique laughs. "Why didn't you say so?"

The food tastes better than it looks and is far superior to anything I've eaten in the past week. "Why are you going all Carrie Nation on me?"

"I'm an alcoholic."

I snicker. "Yeah, so what?"

Monique sighs and starts to retort, but Danielle beats her to the punch. "She can't handle liquor in the house. It's only been a year since she quit drinking."

"Whoop-de-doo." I roll my finger and sit back in my chair. "Good thing we're headed for Dave's house. Now _there's_ a dude who believes in a well-stocked liquor cabinet."

My aunt and Danielle burst into laughter and a comfortable silence ensues. We all tuck into our food and the meal winds down. Monique gathers up the plates and gestures for me to follow with the cutlery. When we get to the kitchen, she says, "I know this trip is not your idea, but let's try to make the best of it."

I shrug and help her load the dishwasher. "Why isn't Lucie doing this?"

Her lips quiver into a smile. "Gone home for the night."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

Her smile widens. "Is that laziness or plain stupidity I hear in your voice?"

Now it's my turn for an eye roll. "It's not like you can't afford live-in help."

Monique counters, "Says the boy who's never worked for anything in his life."

She sounds way too much like Aaron. "And you _have_?"

Her hands stop moving and she stares at me through a waterfall of burnished hair. "Everything I own comes from my earnings."

I snort. "Says the trust fund baby."

She sighs. "I've never touched a dime of my father's money."

"You expect me to believe that?" I hand over the last of the knives and make a dubious face.

"Don't care what you believe." Monique added soap and started up the dishwasher. With a sweep of her hand, she said, "I have some work to do. Make yourself at home, but if you touch my stuff, I'll kill you."

It's not until she's left the room that I get the Stripes reference. The lonely sound of my laugh is swallowed up by the huge kitchen and I fall into a chair to mope for a while.

Duncan

I still feel the imprint of her hand on my chest. It burns at me, reminding me that we're no longer the golden couple, lighting the way with our saffron aura. Veronica and Duncan. Future king and queen of the prom. I throw down our homecoming dance picture and smile bitterly at all I once believed. Naïve little boy. Isn't that what Monique would say?

_God_, me and Logan's aunt. What was I thinking, going off with a complete stranger? Mommy always told me to stay away from weirdos, but I no longer care what Celeste has to say to me. She helped ruin a perfect relationship, and I'm not about to forget it. And Dad? He cheated on his wife and tried to cover up a crime in the interest of protecting me. I suppose I should thank him, but I only feel simmering resentment at being coddled like a baby.

Lilly and Logan. Me and Veronica. Circumstances roped us together as friends, but we were already frayed around the edges when Lilly was murdered. I mean, think about it. Celeste and Jake dropped the bomb on me and poof, Veronica and I were finished. And a short time later, the Yolanda Hamilton thing was Lilly's excuse to break up with Logan. Which in hindsight, is the _ultimate_ irony, 'cause Lilly was the biggest cheater of all.

We all deserved better from her, and she short-changed us. I know Logan is trying to be a man about this, but honestly, if I was in his shoes, I'd be livid. The guy loved Lilly so much that it bordered on obsession. It was like he was trying to fill the holes in his life with every part of her. Trouble is, the gaps were yawning and no one could fill them. Especially not her. Beautiful, imperfect Lilly, with her sunny disposition and penchant for trouble. She and I were born exactly 9 months apart and I sometimes wonder if that was the moment that Celeste's face took on that perpetual frown that never seemed to dissipate.

The picture mocks me from the floor and I scoop it up and go over to the window for closer inspection. Heads and hands pressed together as we mug for the camera. Veronica in her virginal white and Lilly in her sultry sparkles. And me and Logan with overly besotted faces, all moony and lovesick as we're transformed into 6 million pixels.

And then there were three. Logan would say it was a really bad Genesis album, but I would say that it's my life. I can see him thumbing through Aaron's record collection and laughing his ass off at all the 70's schlock. Hall and Oates. Bob Seger. Lobo. America. Firefall. And to top the crap pile off? Saturday Night Fever, his father's desert island disk.

Yeah, I remember those times with fondness, because we'll never go back. The horseplay and the arm wrestling and the impromptu poker games are distant memories. And those pool fights where Veronica and I faced off against my sister and Logan? Never gonna happen again. There was one time when Lilly and I paired up and actually won. She was the puppet master, choreographing every aspect of our existence, and it was all programmed to keep _her_ happy. It was never about us; it was always the Lilly show. As long as everyone was playing the game her way, everything was cool. But God forbid if someone upset the applecart.

You know, in that respect, she's a lot like Celeste. In fact, the two are far more alike than different, though you'd never know it to look at them. I somehow doubt that Mom was always such a bitch, and I'm sure she used to know what a smile is. So why did Lilly turn out the way she did? Celeste and Jake seem to be such model citizens, but _everyone_ has skeletons in their closets. And I'm betting that my parents are no exception. So what can I dig up on them? Maybe Veronica can help me when she's ready to forgive me. It will make the summer go by faster and help me forget about that pile of crappy reading on my nightstand.

Logan

I hear someone singing and follow the sound to the lower level, where Aunt Money is ensconced in a cushy office with three oversized monitors. She smiles faintly as I peer at some gorgeous photos of the desert. "Where were these taken?"

"Kalahari Desert."

"Is this how you win a Pulitzer?" I ask simply, thinking that sandscapes are nice, but hardly the type of thing that wins awards.

Monique jumps out of her seat and strides to an adjoining room. With a flick of her wrist, track lighting comes on and illuminates a massive collage of photos. I look closer and am struck by grisly images from war-torn countries. She points to a black and white picture of a young child wailing for his mother, whose bullet-riddled body lies at his feet. "This one. Taken in Afghanistan. I was helping some relief workers when I saw that poor child, and I snapped the picture a second before a shell blew apart our truck."

She extends her arm and I see a wide band of scar tissue running from her elbow to her shoulder. "Second degree burns. I was the lucky one."

"Why do you do it?"

Monique touches the picture for a moment. "It keeps me humble."

"So _that's_ what it takes to bag a Pulitzer."

Her sigh is loud enough to rattle the windows. "I don't care about any of that."

"Or anything else for that matter," I add, knowing I've hit a nerve when her eyes darken to an angry jade.

Monique's fingers flex in and out and something about that nags at me as she looks at the ground. "How would _you_ know?"

"I know enough."

"Ah, so if Google states it as a fact, then it must be true."

A few things snap it into place as I stare at her. That flexing thing? I totally do that when I'm agitated, and God if she doesn't sound just like me when I rant about tabloids. With a sheepish smile, I say, "Do you blame me for checking up on you?"

"No," she replies flatly. "Hope it was worth it."

Monique shakes her head and walks out, leaving me with a wall of death. I sink down to the floor and lie flat, staring up at the pictures until they meld into a monochromatic jumble.

Veronica

Forty-eight hours have passed and everything has changed. Logan hasn't called and Duncan and I aren't on speaking terms. I'm more depressed than ever and wishing I hadn't tossed out my Zoloft. I guess it's time to pay the piper. You can only run so far, and then it all catches up with you.

I knew this would happen. I knew I'd have to face my demons. Just didn't expect it to be so soon. Call me naïve, but I thought the four of us would live forever, that nothing would break us up. But death came calling and completely disabused me of that notion. I now know what Lilly was always trying to tell me. Nothing is forever, so enjoy the moment while you have it. I thought she was being fatalistic, but I was the one living inside a bubble. And now that the bubble has burst, life is falling down on me, and I'm not sure how much more I can handle.

Logan

I'm stumbling down a dark hall and Nine Inch Nails is pounding at me from every direction. The floors and walls are shaking with the volume and it feels like someone is drilling spikes into my brain. When I reach the doorway, I practically fall down the stairs to the garage floor. "_Fuck_," I say when I look at the wall clock near the stairs. This is no nightmare and I'm really awake.

_3:00 AM._

I rub my eyes and stare at a line of vintage cars. One of them is a pale pink Corvette from the early 60s and another is an ancient Porsche. When I get to the third car down, I let out a low whistle and find myself itching to run my hands down its shiny sides. It's a 69 Camaro SS with a ragtop. White stripes parade down its hood, perfectly complementing the custom indigo paint job. It's the kind of mouth-watering car that every boy dreams of. I pad over to it and nearly stumble over a pair of jean-clad legs.

"Who's there?" I call, managing to lord it over Trent Reznor's growl for a fraction of a second. The legs come shooting out and I find myself staring down at my aunt's grubby face. Her hair is stuffed under a baseball cap and drops of oil are right at home in the field of freckles that live on her nose. "God, how did I miss it? You look just like the French chick from Better off Dead. You even have the _same_ fucking name. And best of all, the same car with a different paint job."

Monique's mouth trips upward into a reluctant smile. "That's very cute." She slid off her cart and wiped the sweat from her brow. "Is the music bothering you?"

I snicker at this slight understatement. "Not at all. I _totally_ get off on listening to Big Man with a Gun. It's the perfect cure for insomnia."

She clicks off the stereo and inclines her head slightly. "I am not used to house guests."

"Wow, you got this apology thing down cold."

Monique completely ignores my snark and shudders slightly. "I have some bad news."

What other kind of news is there? It's all bad news with me. "Yeah?"

"Your father was released from jail."

It was inevitable. "How?"

Monique sweeps off her cap and rubs her grubby hands through her thick mane of russet hair. "His fans raised money for him." She starts pacing around the car and I catch a flash of terror in her eyes as she passes me.

"How _sweet_. You _did_ see this coming, didn't you?" Why is Monique so spooked? She barely knows Aaron.

"I didn't give it much thought." She turns and starts in the other direction, kicking at a stray rock and ending up on the hood of her car.

"So why are you flipping out?"

Monique hops off the car and grabs my shoulders in a vise grip. "_Because_, Stella is defending him and she'll most likely get him off."

Her strong hands are digging into me like raven's claws. With a slight movement, I step out of her clasp and say, "Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

She sighs angrily. "She has been the Lester family lawyer for three decades. Perhaps she sees Aaron as an extension of that."

It's only natural that Dad would exploit that angle. The public sees him as the grievously wronged widower and loving father. In fact, he's perfected his persona to Oscar level. "Is the old bat really that good?"

Monique nods with extreme reluctance. "She is."

"Hmm, so it wasn't your bribe that got me out of town?"

Her lips quiver slightly. "Don't think so."

"I can understand why you might be pissed about Stella, but that doesn't explain why you're so freaked out."

Her fingers close around a tool and she starts swinging it back and forth. For a second, it reminds me of Duncan's catatonic state on the day that Lilly died. "Doesn't matter," she mutters. "You should get some sleep. We leave in the morning."


	3. All that we perceive

**Title**: Free at Last  
**Author**: Peregrine  
**Characters**: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.  
**Spoilers**: Through Episode 22.  
**Rating**: K+ for language and violence.  
**Word Count**: 4672  
**Summary**: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.  
**Disclaimer**: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.

**Chapter Three: All that we perceive**

_All that we perceive  
In every mystery  
Who are we  
What we see  
I can't comprehend_

_Lyrics by Thievery Corporation_

Logan

It's 4 in the morning, but I have to call Veronica…have to give her some kind of warning about Aaron. Her life could be in danger, and I won't be there to protect her. The only thing standing between her and my father is Keith Mars. That should reassure me, but it doesn't. The phone barely rings before she picks up. "Hey," she says softly.

"Hi. I've been meaning to call..."

Veronica cuts me off gently. "You don't have to explain. How's it going with Monique?"

I laugh. "It's…_interesting_."

She says, "It could be worse, right?"

"Sure. It could be my Dad riding herd on me."

Veronica sighs. "I know he's out of jail. Is that why you called?" She's trying to be brave, but her voice quavers slightly.

"Sort of. Are you OK?" I want to tell her that everything is going to be fine, even if it is a great big lie.

"Sure. Why?" She fooled me once when she turned evidence against me, but she can't fool me again. I've figured out her dodge 'em routine and it doesn't work anymore.

"You don't sound even close to fine. What's going on?"

Veronica hesitates and I know she's choosing her words carefully. "It's Duncan. He came over last night and made a pass at me."

A sharp pain throbs behind my right eye. Lost tribes in the Amazon could have seen this coming, but that doesn't make it any easier to hear. "And you let him down easy, right?"

"I…kissed him back, but it only lasted for a few seconds before I pushed him away."

Man, I have to rethink this total honesty crap. It really and truly blows. With a shaky laugh, I say, "Wow, that was fast work. I gotta give DK credit. He said everything was cool and the minute I leave town, he stabs me in the back."

"Duncan doesn't see it that way. He sees it as unfinished business."

I spent the last 18 months hoping he'd come of out his self-imposed doldrums, working overtime on my jackass routine to get some kind of reaction. And now that he's awake, I wish I could take it all back. "And how do you see it?"

"It's totally over," Veronica says emphatically.

"Does he believe that?"

"I think so."

The pain spreads to the back of my head and I pop a few Advil. "I wish I was there."

"I miss you too."

"Please be careful. You know how dangerous Aaron is, and your Dad can't be there every second to protect you."

"I will. Try not to worry." Easier said than done with a psycho on the loose. "I better go before my Dad catches me on the phone."

Their shoebox of an apartment doesn't have much privacy. "Call me later?"

"Sure. Bye, Logan."

"See ya." I click off the phone and look off into space. Veronica's not the only one in danger. My aunt is terrified for some reason, and I have to find out why. And if Dad gets on his high horse and tries to force me to come home, then this could get real ugly.

Logan

I hoist my backpack and trot down the stairs at double time. My obscenely yellow fugmobile is parked where I left it last night, unlocked and covered with a film of road dust that actually improves its appearance. When I start to lift the tailgate, I hear an indiscreet cough from behind me. I turn to see my tallish aunt framed in the doorway, smirk firmly in place. "Don't bother."

"What?" My mouth opens slightly in confusion.

Monique strides over to the middle bay and lifts the door. "We're taking the Camaro."

I know I should be pleased, but the thought of losing my wheels doesn't sit well with me. "Don't think so."

Her left eyebrow raises and she shakes her head at my temerity. "This is not open for debate."

The steel in her voice takes me by surprise, but it's not enough to make me stand down. "It's bad enough that I have to take this trip, but I'll be damned if I leave my car behind."

My sharp tone only makes her laugh. "How do you plan on paying your way? Did you think that _I_ would foot the bill?"

That's exactly what I expected. "Yeah."

Her smile widens. "And they say _I'm_ the delusional one."

I line my pockets with my fingers and throw her a wary glance. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly floating in dough."

She rolls her eyes. "_Really_? So you didn't steal the silver and break into Aaron's safe?"

My lips curve into a reluctant smile. "Thought I'd save that for the lawyers."

Monique's smile falls away. "Your truck is an attention magnet. Do you really want the press to stalk you at every turn?"

That never occurred to me. "No." Monique turns back toward the garage and I can't resist one last jab. "Think your hot rod's going to escape their radar?"

She stops in the shadows and her eyes probe mine for a second. "They won't be expecting it."

I watch her get behind the wheel and have to admit that the car's well-tuned purr sounds way more captivating than the XTerra's throaty growl. Monique stops the car and pops the trunk open. Her gear is already packed and I heave my bag next to a longish cylinder. "What the hell is that?" I ask idly.

"That's my apo." My face stays blank and she adds, "It's a telescope."

"What kind of stars did you have in mind?" I crack.

Monique shuts the trunk and hands over the keys. When I look at her in disbelief, she shrugs and says, "I'm tired."

"So how do I get out of here?"

She reaches into the back seat and shoves a battered atlas at me. "Knock yourself out."

I wrinkle my brow. "What direction?"

Monique shrugs. "Head east."

Wow, that really narrows it down. "What about lunch?"

She laughs. "You just ate."

"I'm a growing boy."

Her lips quirk slightly. "In which direction?"

I make a face and find a suitable destination on her crinkled map. "We can stop in Reno."

She pulls her hat down over her face. "Wake me when we get there."

With a bemused smile, I get behind the wheel and put the car into gear. As we move slowly up the driveway, Danni appears on the front porch and waves us off.

Duncan

_I heard the news today, oh boy. _

A Day in the Life, lyrics by Lennon/McCartney

Ah, this is the life. Sleeping until 10, bypassing my usual shower and shave, and stinking up Celeste's pristine kitchen with my hairy presence. I flop into a chair with the paper and some warmed over coffee and the TV droning in the background. My parents have gone out and life is good. After I get my fill of the comics and the sad fact that the Padres lost another home game, I start to fold up the paper and stop when I see a familiar face on the front page.

_Aaron Echolls Out on Bail _

Sepia tones fill my mind as I read that jubilant fans are celebrating their recent fund-raising victory. Faded yellow turns to black rage when I see Stella Rheinhart's name as Aaron's latest legal conquest. With a disgusted toss, I throw the paper aside and pick up the nearby handset.

Logan answers after three rings. "Is it true?" I ask crossly.

He snickers. "Wow, that Dale Carnegie training was totally lost on you, dude."

I'm not in the mood for snark. "Is Stella really stepping up to the plate?"

Logan mutters something out of earshot before coming back on the line. "It sure looks that way."

"Is Monique OK with this?"

"Yeah, she's totally overjoyed." He laughs uneasily and I hear a rush of road noise and a smattering of guttural French.

"Where are you right now?"

"Outside Reno. Want to join us for a few hands of Texas hold 'em? We'll even supply the iced tea."

My lips stretch into a tight smile that hurts my face. "I've moved on to the hard stuff."

He giggles. "Are you fucking kidding me? Drinking a pint of Cuervo is _so_ minor league. You don't graduate until you finish a fifth of bourbon and can stand on your own. Call me when you get there."

Logan cuts off the call and I stare at the phone blankly. It takes me more than a minute to realize that he's pissed at me and another ten seconds to figure out why. Goddamned Veronica and her big mouth! This was between the two of us. She didn't have to drag Logan into it. But the rules of the game have changed, and I've clearly lost the playbook.

Veronica

Aaron made the 11:00 news and was this morning's headline. Celebrities are big business, and he's part of this town's bread and butter. Whenever someone has a big charity event, his name is always first on the list. Wonder if that will still be the case with Lilly's death on his hands. Oh, sure, you can add assault to that list, but since Dad and I are still alive and kicking ass, the public doesn't care about us.

My Dad is more worried than I am. He's fretting and pacing like a caged lion. Back and forth he goes, crossing the kitchen in ten easy steps and nearly hitting the wall with his frustration. Part of him wants to hand me a gun and another part wants to lock me away from all the bad guys. But he knows he can't have it both ways, and he has to get to work.

I personally think that Aaron will keep an extremely low profile until the trial erupts. Threatening anyone in the Mars family will cost him dearly. If Dad doesn't get him first, then Backup will definitely go for the throat.

Logan's call was both reassuring and unsettling. The part of me that remembers Harlequin romances and fluffy bunny slippers went all gooey over his protectiveness, but the private dick gene went into full alarm mode at the fear in his voice. Oh, he tried to hide it, but it was mixed in with the anger and angst.

I hate the fact that I hurt him, but I had to be honest. There's been too much deception, and it's not a good way to sustain a relationship. If this is going to work, then we have to be straight with each other. And then there's this thing with Duncan. It's like a hornet's nest. Should I hit it with a stick to see what happens or leave it totally alone? Because we're in this state of limbo between friend and not friend and it's driving me crazy. And at this point, can we even be friends after all that's happened?

There's also that stuff he said about Logan and his sketchpad. I never knew Logan could draw, and it only underscores how little I really know about my boyfriend. The fact that my naked image is sandwiched between Lilly scribbles and hangman games starring Mr. Daniels is beside the point. It's hardly on a par with his perverted, statutory rapist of a father. But it falls into the gray area of lying by omission, which is something that Logan excels at. If he wants his private little peep show, then he could at least clue me in.

The clock tells me that it's nearly time to show my face at the Neptune Food Bank, my latest and greatest hangout. If this is what Dad means about having fun and being a normal teenager, then he can keep it.

Aaron

Stella meets him at a coffee shop in the worst part of town. He waves her over impatiently and she hands him an envelope. "The warden asked me to give this to you."

Aaron stares down at his son's flowery handwriting and wonders if this is Logan's way of mocking him. His son had always been a little fey, but he'd always chocked that up to Hollywood. And since the boy had been wrapped around Lilly Kane from the moment they'd met, Aaron had never seriously considered that Logan might swing both ways. Now he just figures that it's one more way for his kid to piss him off. "Thanks." He shoves the envelope in his briefcase and asks, "Do we have a court date?"

"The trial is set for early October. It's an open and shut case. You have nothing to worry about."

She makes it sound so simple. "When can we get together to discuss strategy?"

Stella checks her Palm Pilot. "I can meet you next Friday in my office. Say, 10:00?"

He's paying her a lot of money to represent him. The least she could do is meet on his turf. "Tell you what, Stella. We'll meet _here_ at that time. Deal?"

Her nose wrinkles like she smells something foul. "Very well." Stella pushes back her chair and exits without another word. As he watches her waddle to her silver Benz, he starts to think that she's more trouble than she's worth. And even worse, she completely ignored his Oscar-worthy transformation.

Aaron's dark hair is long gone and replaced by a buzz cut with blonde streaks. Cheap sunglasses litter his face and a backwards Padres cap covers the blight on his head. His clothes are WalMart worthy and his rental car is a mid-90s Taurus with a bad muffler. He now lives at a roach motel that is a step down from the Camelot and spends his mornings parked at the local Krispy Kreme. People come and go and no one spares him a second glance. It's the best disguise of his life and it's making him absolutely miserable.

He views this as a temporary blip in an otherwise perfect life. His wife is gone and he can start living again. If he wants to chase skirts, there is no one to chastise him. And if he wants to fuck teenage bimbos, he can do that too. They kiss his lily-white ass, and it's all that he deserves. The irony of that term isn't lost on him and he smiles at the thought of Jake Kane's daughter going down on him, surrounding him with her amazing mouth and chasing away all rational thought. Aaron doesn't regret his actions and would do her again if he had the chance.

Aaron knows he should be on top of the world right now. His fans are behind him and he's stolen the Lester family lawyer from Lynn's crazy sister. It's only a matter of time before he triumphs over the Kanes and regains his rightful status as the king of Neptune. And anyone who doesn't see it that way will get run over. Trouble is, there are more than a few people who want to take him down, and they aren't pushovers.

He laughs to himself at the thought of his son running off with Monique. Does Logan honestly think he can escape the hell that is reserved for him when Aaron catches up with him? Does he really believe that Dave Lester and his clan can withstand the wrath of Aaron Echolls? With a disgusted snort, he finishes off his coffee and leans back against the wall.

His ungrateful son has never appreciated the sacrifices he's made to give him a better life. All he ever did was whine about Aaron being away on location for months at a time. Couldn't he see that Aaron was no different than the average Joe who worked double shifts at the factory? Why didn't Logan see that? He'd never had to work for anything in his life.

Aaron twists his coffee stirrer between his fingers as he recalls his last real conversation with his son. It was the day he'd attempted to make crab cakes and been caught short by his son's revelations about allergies and an elusive birthday. Logan's words had stabbed him with unwelcome guilt and he'd nearly taken his arm off when that familiar rush of anger replaced the calm he'd tried to erect after Lynn's suicide. He even remembers the words he threw back in Logan's face.

_I'm committed to this family, Logan. I'm committed to you. You'll see that._

Doesn't Logan get it? There is nothing he won't do for his family. Lilly was a two-timing tramp that deserved to die. Aaron had done his kid a favor by removing Lilly from his life. Hell, he'd even gone one step further when he found Logan's letter in Lilly's car after desperately searching for the tapes. The letter was dated on the morning of Lilly's murder and placed Logan in Neptune at a time when he was allegedly in TJ. Since the two of them had been publicly on the outs, it wouldn't have taken much for Keith Mars to swoop down on his boy and read him the riot act.

Nobody is going to take his family away from him. If he has to follow Monique D'Argent all the way out to Martha's Vineyard to get his son back, then so be it. With a sour face, he dumps his trash and spots yet another newspaper kiosk with Lilly Kane's face smirking out at him. Death may have taken her away from her loved ones, but she is still ruining his life.

Logan

I'm cruising on Route 80 in a wet dream of a car. A beautiful girl is riding shotgun…don't I fucking _wish_. That's the way it always is in the movies. It's never about the poor little rich kid with the bipolar aunt whose snores compete with Rage Against the Machine cranked to Spinal Tap volume. And it never reveals that the shotgun is stashed away in the trunk with her photo gear and a smallish valise, or that my own stuff is competing for space with a telescope (sorry, an apo) and a tripod that defies description. No, the guy on the screen always gets the girl and never has to compete with his best friend. He's always the coolest dude in school and has the kind of family that makes your teeth ache.

Duncan has the nerve to call me and complain about Aaron. Like it's my fault that some stupid judge cut him loose. Everyone knows that the justice system is totally fucked. It appears that DK wants to shoot the breeze, but I'm _so_ not in the mood, so I give him shit about his minor league drinking. Yeah, I know he's suffering too, but I just can't deal right now. The call leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth and I turn my phone off completely.

We approach the city and I nudge Monique with my elbow. She grumbles and swats at me with her hand. "Wha--?"

"Wake up," I say shrilly.

She grimaces at my tone. "Drive to Harrah's and ask for Bruno. He'll watch the car while we hit the tables."

The name sets me off and I nearly choke with laughter. "You think I have a death wish?"

Monique favors me with an eye roll. "Take Exit 13."

"Wow, lucky 13 _and_ Bruno the knuckle-dragger. My day is really looking up."

"Take the next turn." A faint smile ghosts across her lips and is gone before I can call her on it.

Harrah's is only a few twists and turns away and we are suddenly there. I skid to a stop and nearly take out a group of geriatrics that appears from inside a blue cloud of bus exhaust. "Fuck," I say as an old crone hits the car with her umbrella and glares at the two of us. Before she moves out of earshot, I swear that she calls me an asshole in some Slavic sounding language. "I suppose I deserved that."

Monique shrugs like it's no big deal. "Let's roll." She hops over the door and folds herself into a genteel bow as a dapper little man with long sideburns and a pencil thin mustache moves in our direction.

"Where's the gorilla?" I snap my gum and look around in feigned boredom.

They both look at me like I've lost my mind. "Bruno, this is my nephew Logan."

He takes my hand and flashes his pearly whites at me. I nearly gag when he flutters his eyelashes and runs his finger across the top of my hand. The keys fall to the ground and we both stoop at the same time, clacking our thick skulls together on the way down and rearranging our limbs as we re-establish our equilibrium. Bruno dares to lay a hand on my arm to steady me and I throw his fingers off like he's given me a major case of the cooties. "Get the fuck away from me, you freak," I snarl, reverting to my jackass ways in one easy step.

Aaron would have ripped me a new one for such a display, but Monique only whispers an apology to Bruno and rabbits toward the main entrance. She's halfway through the lobby before I catch up and by then, she's muttering something about needing a fix and ditching me in a dark alley. I move in front of her and grunt, "I'm sorry, OK?"

"Whatever." Monique spots the approaching security guards and pulls her ID from her pocket. She hands it to the first no-neck and motions for me to cooperate with the second dude. With studied casualness, I pull out my wallet and flash a grin when he hands it back without giving me another look. When they're out of earshot, she asks, "You ready to lose big?"

I have twenty bucks to my name and I'm not about to spend my day cranking quarters into a one-armed bandit while some old lady hits the jackpot. "I'll be in the bar," I say with a grin.

She shakes her head. "You're coming with me."

My snort turns a few heads. "No way."

Monique doesn't give me a second chance. With a shove, she propels me away from the tantalizing beer signs and strong-arms me into place at her side. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

We arrive at the blackjack table and I intone, "And if I say no, you gonna beat me up?"

Her face pales and her hand drops quickly to her side. "I'll leave that to Aaron when he catches up to us." Her voice shakes slightly as she exchanges a small fortune for a towering pile of chips. With a jaunty smile, Monique says, "Now watch how it's done."

Veronica

I look around the room and manage to smile as I dish out breakfast to a long line of sorry souls. This is not my chosen form of penance. It's a rather cold reminder that I'm only one step away from ending up just like them. Perhaps that was my father's intent. The morning starts to wind down and as I start to take off my apron, I spot Becky James in a huddle with one of the directors. And there's no way to get past her, because she's practically camped out at the front door. I move casually past the tureens and smile at a few last minute stragglers and am right on the threshold when she calls my name.

"Veronica, wait up."

I stiffen at her approach and turn with crossed arms. "Yeah?"

"How are you?" Her liquid eyes are filled with concern and I instantly feel like a total shit.

"OK."

"You know, that offer still stands." Her sweater tightens enough to accentuate her already spectacular curves and I instantly hate her for looking like a fashion model and capturing my Dad's heart. If not for me, they would be together now.

"What offer would that be?" I ask sweetly.

Miss James sees right through me to the damaged little girl that hides beneath the shiny veneer. "My office is right around the corner at #10. I have time right now if you want to chat."

My trusty watch tells me that it's time to exit stage left. "Thanks, but I kind of promised my Dad that I'd track someone down."

Her smile slips slightly at my obvious lie. "Of course. Maybe some other time."

It's easy to nod and smile like a trained monkey. "Sure."

She watches me race to my car and waves as I tear out of the parking lot, swerving slightly to avoid a creepy looking homeless guy with a twisted baseball cap that hovers over his lowering brow. It's only when I stop at the traffic light that I realize he reminds me of someone. I look over my shoulder, but the bum has disappeared and I soon put him out of my mind.

Aaron

Aaron is inordinately pleased with his masquerade. Maybe he isn't the Master of Disguise, but he's managed to fool Veronica Mars. Because he knows she saw him and immediately registered him as lower than pond scum. And that works to his advantage. Everybody is used to his deep pockets, but nobody will expect Aaron Echolls to show up in the bread line.

He joins the unwashed masses and tries not to gag at the sour miasma of unwashed bodies on parade. The overly cheerful lunch aides ladle up some gloppy looking stew and cover it with gravy. The grayish-brown grease shines up at him and his gizzard does a back handspring at the thought of letting it touch his lips. With a clatter, he plops down at the far end of a table and sweeps off his hat. His nimble fingers find the fork and he starts scarfing up the grog without stopping to taste it. He knows if he stops to think about any of this, the rage will overtake him, and that is something he can't afford right now.

Aaron lurches to his feet and discards his trash. He keeps his eyes glued to the ground and shuffles drunkenly to the sidewalk, using the technique he perfected in Breakpoint. It works so well that the regulars give him a wide berth and let him go about his business. He almost makes it to the street when he hears a female voice call after him. "Excuse me, sir. I think you forgot your hat."

He turns and is startled by the sight of Rebecca James trotting after him. She stops at a safe distance and offers his baseball cap with a wary smile. "Is this yours?"

His response is slurred by imaginary drink. "Sure is. Thanks, little lady," he drawls, affecting a down and out Southern accent that he stole from Jackie Gleason.

Her features freeze and her mouth hovers between a grimace and a grin. "You're welcome."

She cocks her head slightly and asks, "Is this your first time here?"

"Yes'm."

"You sure? Because you seem awfully familiar." Her intelligent eyes crinkle up and he decides it's time to beat a hasty exit.

Aaron belches and almost laughs when she backs away with a moue of disgust. "Damned sure. Now if you don't mind, I have an appointment with Jack Daniels." He whirls and nearly makes first contact with the concrete as he totters away with the convincing shamble of the terminal drunk.


	4. Ghosts

**Title**: Free at Last  
**Author**: Peregrine  
**Characters**: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.  
**Spoilers**: Through Episode 22.  
**Rating**: M for language, violence, and sexual situations.  
**Word Count**: 13,023**  
Summary**: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.  
**Disclaimer**: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.

Chapter Four: Ghosts

_Just when I think I'm winning  
When I've broken every door  
The ghosts of my life  
Blow wilder than before_

Logan

Monique is taking them to the cleaners and as we move from table to table, I feel them watching us with growing interest. "Maybe we should leave," I suggest with a subtle nod of my head.

She stares openly at the suits that hover near the bar and waves. "Not till I'm good and ready."

The larger of the two guys talks into a radio. "Umm, I think they have other ideas."

"One more game, OK?" Monique dumps some chips on the table and queues them up in front of her. I watch the action and the advantage is hers in short order.

"How do you do it?" I mutter as she brushes her hair out of her eyes.

Monique grabs her booty and we head for the cashier's window. "The money doesn't matter, so I play for the fun of it."

"You make it sound so easy," I scoff, watching the clerk's eyes widen as she dumps out a mountain of chips.

Her smile flickers like a jack-o-lantern's and is quickly snuffed out as she hands over her ID. "There's a madness to my methods," she quips dryly. With a brief return of her tight smile, she nods at the clerk and pockets her check.

"Not in a sharing mood?" I snark.

"What are you going on about?" Monique retorts, fishing in her purse for a butt and only lighting up when we hit the sidewalk.

"You really _don't_ get it, do you?" My throat chokes with emotion and I turn my face away in disgust.

She drags on her Gitane and stares through the smoke. "No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

I spot the Camaro and throw a ten at Bruno. "Thanks, big guy," I simper, watching the red creep up his neck as I vault over the door and bounce into shotgun position, momentarily forgetting my pissiness as I lean back against the seat and flash my biggest smile.

Monique opens her wallet and tucks a wad of bills in Bruno's vest pocket. "Some people have no manners," she comments acidly.

Bruno shrugs and they huddle together for a moment. She pats both his shoulders and kisses him on the cheek. "Call me when you get back into town," he urges before sending us on our way.

I roll my eyes. "Didn't think he was your type."

Monique stubs out the cigarette and guns the engine as we return to Route 80. "Are you always such an ass?"

"Only for you," I reply with cloying sweetness. After a long beat, I ask, "So, Money, are you one of those bleeding hearts that bends over backwards for harbor seals but won't give your own family the time of day?"

The car swerves and she cuts across three lanes of traffic to a left exit. She's running close to 70 when we hit the off-ramp and forces her way into traffic. After three sharp turns, we squeal into a Bank of America parking lot and she growls, "Come with me."

"And watch you deposit your winnings?" I say bitterly. "Thanks, but I think I'll skip that little drama."

The radio is playing my favorite song and I reach over to turn up the volume, but her hand stops me in mid-air. "Out of the car," she orders coldly.

Something stops me from lashing out at her and I stare at her for a second before falling into line behind her. We parade into the bank and when the manager spots her, he coos, "Monique, I'm so glad you called ahead. Everything is ready to be activated."

"Excellent." She jerks her head toward the manager's office and my mouth opens slightly.

"What's this about?"

The manager extends his fingers. "I'm Herb Flowers, Mr. Echolls." I shake his hand and take the nearest seat. He pushes the papers at me and explains, "I've marked all the signature lines. If you'll just sign, the account is all yours."

Women have that thing called intuition, but it missed men by a country mile. Even so, I begin to get an inkling that I've really put my foot in it when she signs over the check and Herb asks me to add my signature. "Mine?" I ask foolishly.

"Yours," Monique snaps as Herb hands over a live ATM card. "Happy Birthday, Logan."

Duncan

The pool beckons me with its watery arms and I quickly realize that poet-in-residence is not in my future, though I do the beatnik thing really well. But none of that matters as I dive to the bottom and stay suspended for a few minutes, eyes wide open as I inspect the sea foam green sides and bottom that hold me captive. When I finally come up for air, I am relieved to see that I am still alone. For a moment, I let my mind wander down that dark path that we all take when we're pissed at the world. Poor, poor, pitiful rich boy with his overly solicitous Dad and a doting Mom who dopes him to the gills. Wall all that up and mix it with Oxcarbezapine **and some Valium and you turn out a good little Donut. Only, I'm not so good anymore. I actually plotted revenge against my best friend and only stopped when my dead sister showed up. And there was the part where I tried to steal his girlfriend away from him, though I have to admit that I'd try it again if I thought it would work. But anyway, back to that road I mentioned. What would it be like if everyone was gone? What if I was on my own for the rest of my life? Could I even manage to take care of myself after having my every need catered to? I suppose I should try to put myself in Logan's shoes, but I don't dare walk down that road, because I'm afraid that I might not find my way back. Because while Logan has perfected his Cleopatra routine, I'm sure that I'll never again be the Queen of Denial. After a year of blotting out everything, I'm ready to live again.**

**I climb out of the pool and start to dry off. Before I can return to my favorite post on dead Lilly's lounge chair, my cell phone chirps and I am surprised to see that Monique is text messaging me. **

**Logan said you needed the name of a good neurosurgeon. Suggest you call Dr. Deschamps at Sloan-Kettering.**

**I send back a quick thanks and stare at the words. Why the hell would she recommend someone at a hospital that specializes in cancer? The phone falls onto the pavement and the crack of its casing is suddenly echoed by a stab of pain in my right temple. I blink rapidly and that's when the vision in my right eye flickers to black.**

Aaron

He walks into the rental store and is instantly drawn to a DV camera. "How much to rent that for a few days?"

The clerk is a twerp with bad skin and an attitude. "More than you can afford, Pops," he sneers.

Aaron shows him Ben Franklin's face. "Will this cover it, Poindexter?"

The kid flushes and his Adam's apple bobs so many times that Aaron thinks he'd be a shoo-in to play Ichabod Crane. "Yeah. But if you break it, you pay the damages."

The clerk shoves a pen and a grease-stained form at Aaron. With a few sweeps of his pen, he lays down an illegible scrawl and a made-up phone number. He palms the camcorder and heads straight to the dive where he's hanging his hat. He shoves in Logan's tape and jabs at the _Play_ button with impatient fingers. As his son's little drama unfolds, the leathered skin on his face tightens with rage. By the time Logan seals the deal with his piss, Aaron is ready to go after his kid with a shotgun. But that would be conduct unbecoming, and he can't risk his upcoming trial over something so trivial.

The tiny part of him that hasn't been completely tarred over by malevolence feels a twinge of remorse over harboring such ill will, but it fades quickly as the slow simmer of his anger burns away the good and lets the evil rush in. A memory niggles at him and a name comes to his mind. Aaron rewinds the tape and as he watches the flames devour his love nest, an idea starts to take shape. He turns on his phone and is happy to see the name at the very bottom of his list. With a wide grin, he pulls up the guy's number and is even happier when he gets a live person. "Hey, Mack, it's Aaron Echolls. I have a proposition for you. Can you meet me tonight at the Krispy Kreme on 14th Street?"

"What time?" Mack belches in rich stereo and Aaron holds the phone away from his ear.

"10 sharp. Don't disappoint me, Mack."

Logan

"It's not my birthday."

"September 12th isn't so far away, and as you so _kindly_ pointed out, you really _do_ need the money," she says casually.

I am beyond stunned. Not only have I totally misjudged her, she actually knows my birth date. "_Thanks_," I say, always the master of understatement. We move out of the manager's office and the amount of that staggering check continues to leave me breathless. I want to ask if this is all a joke and that 25,000 dollars didn't just migrate into my name.

Monique's laugh has a nasty edge. "It's _nothing, _right If I can donate millions to the Save-a-Seal project, then I can easily throw a few pennies at my nephew."

We get back to the car and I can barely meet her eyes, but when I do, I see a quick flash of hurt that scurries behind her anger. "I'm _sorry_."

Her fingers clench the wheel whitely as she glares over at me. "That didn't work the first time you said it, and it sure as hell isn't working now."

I run my fingers through my hair. "_Fine_. I'm a complete asshole and an ungrateful brat. Does that make it better?"

She shakes her head as she starts the car. "Besides overstating the blindingly obvious? Not a bit."

The thing is, I really am sorry this time, but she will never believe that. "So what do you want me to say? That I'll change into a model citizen overnight?"

Monique snorts. "_Hardly_. But the least you could do is _try._"

I retort, "Why should I do that? Because you dropped a wad in some bank account?"

"I don't know, because it's the right thing to do?"

We hit the highway and I decide that she's won this round. "Look, next time I start going off on you, you have my permission to kick my ass."

Her expression doesn't quite make it to a smile, but it is definitely a few degrees south of glacial. "All right."

"So where is the road taking us now?"

"South Dakota, by way of Wyoming."

Badlands. FBI agents with cool-looking shoes that didn't quite fit. Snarky cops with broken down motorcycles. OK, so maybe I've seen _Thunderheart_ a few too many times, but it was the last place I wanted to go. "Why?"

"To pay our respects." And with that cryptic comment, she maneuvered the car to the middle lane and jacked in her iPod. With the top down and the breeze roaring in my ears, I didn't expect to hear much, but her superlative speakers soon proved me wrong. Crystalline shards of sound defeated the wind and ensconced itself in my head. And somehow, I knew I would forever remember the day we rode with the top down and blasted Sonic Youth at teeth-rattling volume.

Veronica

_Call me later_.

My fingers hover over the keypad and I hang up at least half a dozen times before I let the call go through. He picks it up on the fourth ring.

"Hey. Where are you now?" I ask lightly.

Logan sighs. "Somewhere in East Bumfuck, Wyoming."

"Doing lots of touristy stuff?"

He snorts and I wonder if he's leaning against something. "Yeah. I think we've hit every gift shop between here and Neptune."

"Really?" Monique doesn't strike me as your typical shopper.

He starts laughing. "Nope. She cleaned their clocks at Harrah's and we've been on the road ever since. Right now she's arguing with some Indian guy about Little Big Horn."

"Who's winning?"

Logan drawls, "We-ll, he's got a bigger knife, but I think Monique could take him in a fight."

"She treating you OK?" Monique was a bit of a cold fish, and who the hell knew what her agenda was?

He hesitates for a beat. "Yeah. I suppose it's better than collecting food stamps and lining up in the grub line."

My mind swoops back to that crazy looking guy in the parking lot. "Funny you should mention that. I did my first tour of duty at the food bank."

An apology hovers between us but it never finds verbal fruition. "Lucky you."

"And you'll never guess who I ran into."

His laugh is tinged with bitterness. "Was Trina whoring it up for the press again?"

"Not this time. It was Becky James."

"_Wow_, that's a whole different kind of whore."

I know what he means, but Rebecca James doesn't deserve his anger. "I think she's actually sincere."

He coughs to hide a giggle, but I know the smirk has come out to play. "Don't you find the timing just a bit _too_ coincidental? One of the town's biggest scandals hits the news and there she is, offering her help and handing out her business card."

"I didn't see any cards."

Logan's laugh sounds less forced this time. "_What_? She didn't give you one? You ought to break down her door in protest."

"Maybe I will. Hey, I need to ask you something. Is it true that you made some sketches of me?"

His response is mostly unintelligible, but I pick out Duncan's name from his blue streak. "Umm, yeah, that's true."

"_Why_?" I hug my knees and feel a shiver works its way down my spine as I remember the eye of that video camera over the bed.

"It's not what you think, Veronica." His answer is a little too fast to reassure me. "I'm _not_ like my father."

His already shaky foundation is crumbling and I have to prop him up before he breaks apart completely. "I know you're not, but why did you hide that from me?"

"Drawing is one of the only things I'm good at, and you looked so peaceful that night. I figured if they were sending me down the river, I'd have something to remember you by."

I am not prepared for the upwelling of emotion that closes my throat and tears up my eyes. "I see."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything. It's always been my private thing that I don't share with anyone, and when DK stumbled across it…well, you can guess the rest."

"Yeah. Did he call you?" I wonder if any of us could ever make amends.

"This morning. He was freaking out about Stella representing my…" Logan cuts off his words and finally adds, "I think he's been drinking too much. Maybe you can check on him or something."

There is genuine concern in his voice. "I'll think about it."

"Promise me you'll stop by his house and make sure he's OK."

I am only doing this for Logan. "I promise. Why are you so worried?"

"I can't be sure, but I think Duncan's off his meds. He was so pissed at his mother that he talked about stopping all his medication. For some reason, he thinks his parents made up that stuff about epilepsy."

I wouldn't put anything past Celeste Kane, but epilepsy seems like a bit of a stretch. "Do you believe that?"

"Not really, but I asked DK to get a second opinion. My aunt knows a guy at Sloan-Kettering, and she sent him the guy's name."

"But that's…Duncan can't have something like that, can he?"

"Monique thinks he should get it checked out. It seems kind of extreme, but some of the symptoms she described hit a little too close to home."

A car door slams and I hear my father laughing with Alicia. Time to ditch the phone and play the dutiful daughter. "Hey, I have to go, but I'll check up on Duncan as soon as I get a chance."

"Let me know what you find out. And Veronica? If you see Aaron…"

I interrupt, "There's been no sign of him."

"That you know of. Veronica, the guy is dangerous, and his disguises are a helluva lot better than his acting." He is already distancing himself from Aaron, and that can only be a good thing.

"I'll be careful."

"OK. Take care, and about all that stuff I didn't get to say…"

"I know. Bye."

The door opens and my smile is almost convincing enough to wipe the worry from Dad's face. But I still see it hovering behind his cautious smile as he leans over to hug me and places some groceries on the counter. "You up for some lasagna, sweetheart?"

"Thought you'd never ask." I leap up to give them a hand and push aside my troubles for at least the next few hours.

Aaron

Ian Mackenzie enters the donut shop and looks for the Aaron he once knew. His gaze skates past the motley crew of seniors, bag people, and pimply teenagers with powdered sugar lining their lips. But he never once looks at the skid row bum with the ghetto aesthetic.

Aaron gives a tiny wave with his fingers and grins at Mack's discomfited expression. He walks over and mutters, "Where's Aaron?"

His smile grows wider as he points to himself. "Right here, son. Sit down and take a load off."

Mack's eyebrows disappear into the thinning fringe that shadows his face. "What's the deal?"

Aaron places his palms on the table and says, "Just trying to lie low."

The younger man sighs, "Whatever you say, dude. So why am I here?"

He takes a folded paper out of his shirt pocket and slides it to Mack. "Think you can help me with this?"

His eyes widen slightly as he reads Aaron's instructions. "I know you're pissed, but isn't this pushing your luck?"

A familiar stirring of anger tightens his jaw as his gaze drills into Mack's. "It wasn't a problem last year when you took care of my wife's little friend, so why is it an issue now?"

Mack wads the paper into a ball and shoves it in his pocket. "_That_ guy was an upstate nobody, but taking out locals is not my style."

Aaron opens his briefcase and lets Mack get a look at the pile of cash inside. "I'm betting this will change your mind."

The killer knots his fingers. "What's it worth to you?"

"50,000 up front, and a matching amount when the job is completed."

Greed flares in Mack's eyes and Aaron knows he has him. "By complete, do you mean…"

Aaron interrupts, "Confirmed dead."

"Look, what you're asking…there's no guarantee I can get them in the right place at the right time."

He slams the briefcase shut and gets to his feet. "Not my problem, Mack. Can you do the job or not?"

Ian stares up at him and finally nods tersely. "I'm in."

Logan

Monique has been uncharacteristically silent since she sent over that medical referral to DK. She chews on her lip and in profile, she looks so much like my mother that I feel my eyes tear over. When she finally senses my gaze and glances over her shoulder, the resemblance falls away and I feel like an idiot. "What is it?"

Duncan doesn't top my list of worries, but he's pretty close to the front of the line. "You really think it's cancer?"

She shrugs in that patented Gallic way she has about her. "I cannot say, but it should be ruled out."

"And this guy is that good?"

Monique smiles. "_She_ is the best in her field."

"And you know this because—"

"She saved my life."

The air goes out of my lungs as I gawk at her. "How many close calls have you had?"

"Too many."

I know I am encroaching on her privacy, but I have to ask, "Does Aaron fall into that category?"

Monique sighs and there is a sob hiding behind her ragged exhalation. "It was a long time ago."

I jerk the wheel and steer the car to the side of the road. "Tell me what he did to you, Monique."

Her fingers ball into fists and silvery tears start dripping down her cheeks. "I cannot…it doesn't matter…"

My father has cut a wide swath of destruction and I decide that it has to stop. If I can make a difference in one person's life, then it will be worth it. "It _does_ matter, Monique. Whatever you might think, he's _not_ above the law."

Her green eyes harden into emerald chips. "Aaron came to the island twice. On his first visit, he came to meet the family. Whenever Lynn wasn't looking, he would give me the eye. I was _12_ at the time. Can you believe that?"

Aaron is a pig of the first order. Ogling children was the least of his sins. "_Yeah_."

"His second visit was three years later. There was this big party for your second birthday and the booze was flowing. I was hanging out with my friends when he knocked at the door. They all asked for his autograph and ran out on me. He acted all friendly, but I never cared for him. Aaron started touching my arm and asking me why I hated him. He said my behavior was hurting Lynn and forcing our father to take sides. I didn't dare tell him that my father despised him from the moment he met him. Then he stroked my hair and said he knew I was really a nice girl and was there to help me prove it. And before I could stop him, he threw me on the bed and was forcing his tongue down my throat."

Her words pound at me like Thor's hammer and the acid wash of hatred and resentment overwhelms me. "He raped you?" I intone ominously.

Monique nods quickly and rubs her hand across her eyes. "And threatened me. He held me down with his arm and cut off my breath as he fucked me."

"And I bet he thought you liked it, right?" I snarl, hurling my words across the car like a heat-seeking missile and willing it to find my father and destroy him.

She answers after a long beat and her words are strangled with emotion. "You know, there was this boy I liked, and I thought my first time would be with him…little did I know that I'd throw it away on that asshole."

"God, I'm so sorry." I don't know what else to say, but it seems to be enough. Her fingers find mine and squeeze them slightly before she withdraws back into her shell.

"Let's drive on. We have a lot of miles to cover before nightfall."

I start up the car and ease it back into traffic, but my thoughts are deeply troubled by this information. No one else will stand up to him, so it has to be me.

Veronica

Alicia and Dad are so busy canoodling that they never notice when I slip out the door. I'll never hear the end of this, but I need to know that Duncan is OK. The familiar twists and turns to the Kane mansion seem to take forever and when I finally arrive, the house is pitch black.

I walk slowly up the tarmac and try not to notice how the mansion looms over me. Duncan's SUV is parked near the door, but his parents are obviously out. With a sigh, I reach over to ring the bell and stop when I hear a twig snap.

"_Duncan_?" My frightened voice sounds very small in the vast ocean of the night and my only answer is the whisper of the sea breeze fanning my hair against my neck. I step away from the portico and as I round the carefully pruned hedges, I see a shadow dart down the hill to the back of the property.

I hug my arms around myself to quell the sudden rise of goose bumps and trot back to the front door. With a determined finger, I push in the bell and lean on it for a good five seconds. When the door is finally yanked open, I am practically nose-to-nose with a bleary-eyed Duncan.

Duncan's boozy breath washes over me and I manage not to shrink away. "What do you want?" His tone is unnaturally loud and my glance over one shoulder catches his attention. "Veronica, is something wrong?"

My smile is stretched as tight as a drum. "I was about to ask you the same question. Can I come in?" I practically shove him aside in my haste to leave that shadow behind.

He looks out for a few seconds before staring over at me. "Sure, why not? Not like you interrupted my sleep or anything."

"Sorry." A quick glance at my watch confirms that it's a shade past 11. It might be late, but it's summer, and Duncan is a night owl.

Duncan finally closes the door and shuffles over to me. He ruffles his hair and flops down on the couch. "So why are you here?"

"To check up on you."

A muscle in his cheek twitches. "I'm _fine_."

Part of me hopes he is only pissed and not about to fall at my feet in a seizure. With a raised eyebrow, I say, "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

His blue eyes darken to navy and I see he is one shade beyond annoyed. "Now you sound like my mother."

"I'm only trying to help."

He laughs bitterly. "_Really_? So you're here to _what_, force me to shave and shower and go out and get a real job?"

I'll never admit this in a million years, but Celeste and I actually agree on something. "Wish it was that simple, but that won't solve your problem." My finger goes to my head and I see that I finally have his attention.

"So what's this _really_ about?" Duncan asks quietly.

"That doctor in New York. You going to call her?"

He rubs at his right eye and stares through his fingers. "_Christ_, does the whole world know about this?"

I shake my head. "Logan is worried."

"He's _good_, isn't he? I used to believe him too. Truth is, the only thing bugging Logan is that I'm about to steal his throne as King Cuervo." He holds up a bottle of tequila and swigs a quarter of it down without flinching.

This is a side of Duncan that's been hidden away and I wonder if it's always been there, hidden behind the wall of drugs. "Look, I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but you really should have this checked out."

"Aw, didn't know you cared," he snapped.

"_Damnit, _Duncan, you can't let this go." My voice cuts like broken glass and catches him in the middle of a gulp. He coughs violently and I shove my water bottle in his face. "Drink this."

The water is gone in three swallows and the bottle clatters to the floor as he sits back. "I'm flying out to Manhattan in the morning."

_Damn_. "Do your parents know?"

He shakes his head. "No way I'm telling them."

"But…"

Duncan holds up a hand. "It's cool, Veronica. They think I'm going to visit my cousin in Queens."

I sigh and lace my fingers together. "Wouldn't the truth be easier?"

He rolls his eyes. "Not for me. Mom will run the show and Dad will give in to keep the peace. You know how they are."

I nod in commiseration and get to my feet. "Call me if you need anything."

Duncan follows me out to the door and touches my arm gently. "Umm, when I booked my tickets, they had this great 2-for-1 deal, so I…"

"Want some company?" I ask with a falsely bright smile.

He knows what he is asking of me. "Yeah, that would be nice."

I think my Dad will understand in time. "OK. What time are you picking me up?"

Duncan hangs his head slightly and when he finally meets my gaze, I see he's looking slightly to the left of my face. "I was hoping you could drive."

What would I do without my trusty LeBaron? It's hanging together by a thread, but it will do in a pinch. "All right. What time?"

He smiles sheepishly. "6 sharp."

"Is that AM or PM?"

Duncan laughs and opens the door. "See you in a few hours."

I feel him watching me as I traipse down to my car and that's when I remember the shadow. With a nervous wave, I pick up my pace and am immensely relieved when I slip behind the wheel and lock out the night. My car churns to a start and as I begin driving home, I am certain that Duncan is hiding something from me. One way or another, I'll get to the bottom of it.

Duncan

The booze knocks me out and when I wake up, it's inching toward 5 AM. My suitcase is packed and stashed under the stairs. My parents are hours from waking up and by the time they realize I'm gone, I'll be halfway to the East Coast.

An afghan is pulled around my shoulders and I recognize my mom's intervention. It's hard to hate someone who loves you to the point of obsession. Logan always teased me about being a mama's boy and I guess he has a point.

I stagger blearily to the bathroom and groan at my rather scary reflection. It's one thing to piss Mom off, but it's quite another to turn into the Wild Man of Borneo. You know you've gone too far when you look as bad as I do. A hot, steamy shower clears my head and a complete shave does even more to lift my spirits. What the hell? If I have cancer, they're going to cut off all my hair anyway. Might as well save them the trouble. Wow, did I make a joke? Yeah, that's what I thought. It's like all my jokes. They fall flat before I even start, because everyone's already heard them before. When Logan tells the same exact joke, everyone laughs their asses off. It's always been that way and even though I've accepted my eternal fate as the sidekick, that part has always bugged me.

My Dad said a funny thing on the night that my life was blown apart at the seams. He was raving and I swear I saw drool fly from his lips, but what he said makes perfect sense now. "It's your turn to step up to the plate, Duncan. It's time to show them what you're made of." He went on in that vein for a good half hour before Mom sedated him, but his words stuck with me. I'm guessing that's what propelled me into bed with Logan's aunt, and I'm even assuming that it infused me with strange notions about revenge. Dad was definitely referring to school and supplanting Logan as BMOC, but I chose to ignore that part.

Dad doesn't get it…doesn't get me. I don't want to be in charge. Stanford Law is _not_ in my future. It's gotten to the point where I don't even want to go to college. Why can't I slack off like all the other 09ers that take a year off before they head off to school? Why can't I have that year in Europe or that hot summer on the French Riviera? Good questions, right? My Dad is a billionaire but he won't even cut me any slack. The whole thing is a matter of principle. I don't really want those expensive trips, but I'd at least like them offered up like a brass ring.

The only thing I've ever really wanted is Veronica, and now that she's beyond my reach, I want her more than ever. Yeah, I know it's a lost cause, but the hunger is still lurking in the wings, reminding me of all that I've lost. My sigh is broken by the honk of a horn and I hurry out to the car with my suitcase firmly in hand.

Logan

I stare up at the Wounded Knee memorial and shake my head. "_This_ is paying your respects?" My whispered words gust away on the whipping wind as I watch Monique lay a few sprigs of flowers on a grave.

She seems to sense my unease and stares over her shoulder for a moment. "Let's go." The keys appear in her hand and she's in the car before I can do more than blink a few times. I look between the graveyard and her car and get one of those weird déjà vu feelings that strike at the oddest times. The ground seems to rush up at me and I only regain my equilibrium at the last second. Monique lights up and calls, "You OK, Logan?"

OK no longer appears in my vocabulary and I suddenly feel the weight of all those dead Indians. "Get me out of here."

Monique revs the engine and leaves a cloud of dust in her wake. "You felt it, didn't you?"

"Yeah." I huddle lower in the seat and ignore the raven stares of sullen Lakota youth as we make our way down the main track at Pine Ridge. "Why are we here?"

"I already answered that question." Monique waves and I see the upturned hands of a few smiling women in front of the post office.

"_Really_? So what you're telling me is that we came all this way to put some dried up flowers on some nobody's grave?"

Her jaw flexes slightly and her reply is a measured cadence of tightly controlled emotion. "That _nobody_ was James Yellow Hair."

"And I'm supposed to care about this because…" I let my voice trail off and am rewarded by an angry flash of her verdantly green eyes.

"He was the great uncle of the guy who saved my father's life in Korea."

_Damn_. My fingers find the lighter in my pocket and tighten around it protectively. I've really put my foot in it again and an apology forms on my tongue. "I didn't know, I'm…"

Monique cuts me off with a downward chop of her hand. "_Don't_, OK? I don't buy the act, and neither will these people."

How am I supposed to react when she keeps taking me by storm, throwing down her not so little surprises at every turn? "Should I stay in the car until they say I can come in?"

She grounds out her butt and sighs. "Nice idea, wrong tribe."

Can I help it if my only immersion into Indian culture comes from Dances with Wolves and Tony Hillerman novels? "Will you just tell me what I need to know so I don't completely fuck this up?"

Her smile warms me with its easy familiarity and I am almost lulled into grinning back, but then I remember my place and shrug off her sometimes uncanny resemblance to my mother. "Think you can channel Montgomery Clift?"

Monique is totally onto my game and I don't like it one bit. "Sure."

She nods and pulls into a gravel driveway that fronts a shabby looking cement house. "I'll hold you to that."

Veronica

The ride to the airport is a silent affair, and the hushed atmosphere starts to get on my nerves. "So what's up?" I ask as we pull into the parking garage and luck out when a battered Toyota gives up its spot near the elevators.

Duncan looks like he's waking up from a long sleep. "Huh?"

"Why'd you ask me to drive?"

The suggestion of a smile flits across his face as he taps his forehead. "Hung over."

He's the worst liar ever. "But you still managed to shower and shave," I remark, watching as he expertly hoists both carry-on bags over his sturdy shoulders and walks into a pool of watery sunshine that paints his pallid face in citron and peach.

We cross the corridor into the darkness of the elevator and I know that his reasons for playing passenger have nothing to do with booze. Duncan punches the button for the main concourse, his breath hissing out in annoyance. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything." The elevator bumps along slowly and I'm hardly encouraged by the lack of an inspection certificate.

"_Stop_ interrogating me. This isn't a case, and I'm _not_ one of your suspects. I know that channeling Nancy Drew is what you do, but could you please just _pretend_ that we're friends for the next few days?"

The raw pain in his voice stabs at me and I look away so he won't see the tears that dot my cheeks. The back of my hand removes any trace evidence of caring and I harden my voice slightly. "I always sucked at pretend play, but I'll do my best."

Duncan

I fall asleep on the plane and we're hovering over JFK when she digs her elbow into my side. "Almost there."

Six hours of oblivion, and I still feel as crappy as ever. "Umm, I'm sorry about the other day."

Her ash blonde eyebrows rise slightly as she looks over from her magazine. "For what?"

_Damn_. Veronica obviously swept it under the rug and here I am, yanking it aside and tripping myself up in the process. "For _everything_."

Her eyes darken and I haven't realized I've been holding my breath until she nods and it comes streaming through my pursed lips. "We're cool. _Just_…don't let it happen again."

My teeth bite down into my lower lip and I swallow a coppery trail of mucous and blood as I look at my twisted fingers, unable to meet her eyes and confirm that she's hammered the final nail on our relationship. "No problem," is all I can manage as the plane plummets from the sky and bounces off the tarmac.

Aaron

Aaron watches the hired gun trip over his own shoelaces and mutters to himself about incompetent fools. When Mack finally manages to dust himself off and find his way to the table, he's nearly ready to call their deal off. "What took you so long?"

Mack glances at his watch with a careless shrug. "My watch is slow," he states nonchalantly.

Is that the _best_ he can do? Aaron feels the red simmer of rage and wonders what it would feel like to crush Mack's windpipe. With a forced calm, he swallows his bile and decides there is more than enough time for that. "What do you have for me?"

Mack looks around nervously and leans forward. "Piece of cake to get in and out of there. There's hardly any security and what little I saw will be easy to disable."

"Did anyone see you?" The kid is far too casual about the business of death, and that makes Aaron doubly nervous.

"Don't think so," Mack blurts quickly before adding, "Maybe. The son had a visitor."

"Anyone we know?"

"Yeah. It was that girl that's been on the front page of every paper. What's her name…Veronica Mars."

Aaron's anger boils over and he nearly snaps his coffee stirrer in half as he glares at Mack. "Then we have a problem. Here's how you're going to fix it."

Logan

Charlie Yellow Feather is a wizened prune of a guy who makes death warmed over look like Miss Universe. His jaundiced skin matches his rickety, piano-key teeth, but when he shakes my hand, I am stunned by the strength of his grip. "So you're the movie star's kid," he comments in a wine dark voice that hints of unimagined pain and agony.

"Yeah." I look at my feet, sure that the wrath of Aaron isn't far behind.

Charlie skates over my unease and asks, "How's Dave doing?"

"I have no idea. But they tell me he lives the good life. Is that true?" The collective they is none other than Aunt Money, who is embroiled in a political debate with Charlie's youngest grandson, Jimmy Thinks Twice.

The old Indian's infectious laugh almost gets a smile out of me. "Could be, but I haven't seen the old bastard in almost ten years."

Now there's gratitude for you. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was talking about Aaron's sweetheart of a father. "Figures," I mutter sarcastically.

Charlie waves his hand like it's nothing. "Doesn't matter. Monique more than makes up for it."

"Really?" My eyebrows are on full alert as I stare at Monique and Jimmy.

The creases in his face fold in on themselves as he guffaws. "Follow me." Charlie shuffles away from his red Barcalounger and his faded jeans slide halfway down his skinny butt. He hitches them up and looks over his shoulder with dancing lights in his onyx eyes. "You coming?"

I follow at a safe distance and stop at the sight of his battered old BMW motorcycle. "You expect me to get on that?"

"Unless you want to take your fancy ride." Charlie smirks at Monique's hot rod and adds, "It looks a damn sight better than the day she took it off Dave's hands."

I am nonplussed by this new data splice. "That was my grandfather's car?"

"Sure was. He bought it off the scrap pile and started restoring it. But after his first heart attack, he wasn't able to finish the job, so she took it over. Don't think I've ever seen anyone better with an engine than that girl. She fixed up this old bike so it runs like the day it came off the showroom floor. So what if it looks like crap?"

Yeah, I'm a total snob, but at least he's not calling me on it. "Sorry."

His laugh makes me feel like an even bigger idiot and my mouth starts to form another apology. "You gonna stand there catching flies all day?"

I close my mouth with a snap and slide onto the cracked leather seat. "Where are we going?"

"Here and there," Charlie answers lightly. "Try not to fall off."

My snarky response is torn from my throat as he guns the engine and roars into the road with the engine at full throttle. When I finally catch my breath, we are charging down the main drag and he's chuckling as I clutch the back of the seat and glare at his crinkled face in the rearview mirror. We make a sharp turn and I almost collide with a sad looking pine that hangs over a rusted out Chevrolet. The ride continues at an uncomfortably rapid pace and to my dismay, his laughter swells and seems to drown out the engine. When we finally come to a stop and I slide off in an ungraceful heap, I am forcibly reminded of the old chief from Thunderheart who spent his time laughing at the dumb white guy. That was a movie and this is real life, and I start to see how Hollywood totally got that one right.

Veronica

I view the world from little more than five feet, so everything looks super sized. But on that morning when they slide Duncan into the MRI ring, he seems small and still. His head is covered with an immobilizing helmet and he's draped with a sheet that matches the deathly white of his face. His blazing indigo eyes are in stark contrast to his pallor and I see the fear that he's tried to keep at arm's length.

"You have to leave now," the technician reminds me, touching my arm with a gentle tug when I don't respond.

"OK," I murmur, backing out and nearly colliding with the wall on my way out. "Umm, where should I wait again?" She's told me all this information, but most of it escaped into the vacuum that typically takes over at times like this.

The woman directs me down the hall and I finally slump on a lumpy chair with a bunch of sober-faced people. The TV drones away in the background and it's only when the name Kane registers that I stare at the screen in horrified fascination.

There is smoke and chaos everywhere, but I quickly discern that the Kane mansion has burned to the ground. Jake and Celeste are hanging by a thread in the local burn unit and their son is nowhere to be found. The talking head speculates on motives and her local expert stridently states that arson is strongly suspected. When they start insinuating that the son's convenient disappearance puts him at the top of the list of suspects, my terror turns to anger.

"Damn" I mutter, ignoring the stares of the knitting granny to my left and the surly, cud-chewing teenager on my other side. My phone comes out and I start running for the nearest exit. When I finally emerge into the murky New York air, I speed dial my Dad and when I hear his beloved voice, the words rush from me in a torrent, not stopping until I provide every detail of Duncan's whereabouts and my reasons for accompanying him.

His questions are mercifully quick and he promises to pass this information to the authorities, cautioning me to take care and keep him updated on Duncan's condition. My next call lands on Logan's voice-mail and I quickly recount the events of the past 24 hours, only stammering when I tell him that I miss him and hope he calls soon.

I somehow find my way back upstairs and face the interminable wait for the results from radiology. Duncan has been transferred to another room for further tests and hours seem to pass before someone calls my name. A nurse leads me into an examining room where Duncan is tying his shoes. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth as I stare at him helplessly, wondering how I'm supposed to broach the subject of his parents. He looks up at me, blue eyes overwhelming me with a flood of concern that is oddly misplaced. "You OK?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" I quip. His lips quirk slightly but never quite make it to a smile. "Maybe."

The suspense is killing me. "What did the doctor say?"

"Oh, is that what you're all spun up about?" Duncan's attempt at levity falls as flat as my earlier comment.

"It's not cancer, is it?"

"Nope."

"That's great news…right?" I'm not encouraged by his frown and I cross my arms and wait for his explanation.

His laugh is colder than the tundra. "Not exactly. They found a large tumor on the right side of my brain. It's intertwined with some critical structures and has already caused damage. If they operate, there will probably be further damage when they try to remove it. But if they leave it intact, it will eventually kill me."

"There must be some other options. You can get a second opinion."

Duncan is trying to hold it together, but I see his teeth chattering as he tries to contain himself. "Too late for that. They want to operate tomorrow. All I need is parental consent and they can proceed."

I start shaking my head wildly and by the time I cross the room, the tears are spilling from my eyes. "They can't."

"Why?"

Time seems to slow down as my brain scrambles to find the right words, shoving the information at him in a rapid staccato that only ends when his hand closes over mine and draws me up to the gurney to sit next to him.

Duncan

This can't be happening. It can't be true. I am really epileptic and the burn unit thing is some journalist's idea of a sick joke. There isn't an ugly growth crowding out my optic nerve and I am perfectly fine. God, don't I wish? But the truth is, my life is even more fucked up than Logan's. On any other day, that would be funny—even ironic, but all my smiles are out on strike.

No one ever believes it will come to this. Everyone has an occasional run of bad luck, but this nightmare is way beyond coincidence. It's not some preordained thing, slated to punish the Kanes for their lavish lifestyle and high status among the '09ers. Rather, it's the machinations of one man. I know this with every fiber of my being. There's no proof in the world that will make me believe otherwise. Aaron has set out to destroy us. It wasn't enough to take Lilly; now he wants us all to suffer. No one sues him and gets away with it. And no one takes away his family without paying the piper.

We are all in danger. Veronica. Me. Logan. Maybe even Monique. I'm not the most intuitive guy, but this is pretty clear, even to a dullard like me.

I continue to sit there, saying nothing but plotting my course as I stare at Veronica in seeming shock. There's no question. I have to go to my parents and protect them. My own problems will have to wait. No one else cares what happens to them. Everyone who might have given a damn is gone, so I am it.

She starts to reach for me and I shrug her off. "It's OK, Veronica. I'm flying back as soon as I can get a flight."

"B-but what about your operation?"

A tiny part of me is flattered that she cares, but I have to push that away and do what's right. "I can't think about that right now." With a tight smile, I gather up my stuff and push past the nurse without another word.

Logan

Charlie stops in front of a modern, one-story building and watches me with his enigmatic eyes. "This is our new school."

Big fucking deal. The place is a dump compared to Neptune. "So?"

"Monique gave us the money."

So now she's a saint? "That's sweet."

He shakes his head at my sarcasm and looks up at the puffy white clouds that barely obscure the burning hot sun. "Some things never change."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You remind me of Dave…only, you're an even bigger jerk than he is."

Same old song and dance. _Whatever_. I look around at the desolation that surrounds us and snipe, "If she's so great, then why hasn't she helped you? You live in a crappy house and your liver has obviously drowned in alcohol."

"Don't forget my teeth," he crows, pointing to the gaps in his rotting mouth. With a smirk, he adds, "You have all the answers, don't you?"

Damn straight. "Where do you hide your stash? I'm thirsty."

"You're also an idiot." He straddles the bike and I start to think he might leave me in the dust. "I got hepatitis in the hospital, and that damaged my liver. As for the booze, I've never touched a drop."

"And I suppose you've never smoked the pipe either," I comment, knowing he's enjoying this as much as me.

"Or had a vision. And forget the sweat lodge. It puffs me up like a blowfish and stinks my family out of the house."

My laugh ripples out of me and skips into the sultry air. "Damn, I was hoping for the full experience. Maybe next time?"

"You'll have to see Johnny for that."

I raise my eyebrows. "Is that your tenth or eleventh grandson?"

"He's my youngest boy. If you pass through New York City, you might find him shooting up in the Bowery and pounding his bass drum on the streets."

Charlie turns his head away from the sun and for a moment, his silhouette is the epitome of the noble old Indian chief. He looks back at me and I suddenly know he is far more than he appears to be. "Heroin?"

He nods sadly. "The Horse got him after the Gulf War and he's never been the same. Monique managed to break away from that life, but Johnny is too weak."

Wait a fucking second. My aunt was an addict? "When was this?" I ask flatly.

"Over a dozen years ago."

Johnny wasn't the only one who'd been through a war. "And now?"

Charlie shrugs. "She's clean."

And fucking crazy, but that's picking nits. "Why won't you take her money? She's got buckets of it."

His face tightens. "I don't want her charity. It is enough that she helps the tribe."

I check my watch and sigh. "We should probably get back. Thanks for the tour."

"Anytime. Y'all come back now, you hear?"

I roll my eyes and get back on the bike. "Sure, Jethro."

Veronica

Duncan is practically running for the stairs and I only catch him when he hits the sidewalk. "You can't do this," I cry breathlessly, feeling my heart quail when I see that stubborn look cross his face that meant his mind was irretrievably made up.

"Who's gonna stop me?" he challenges as he flags down a taxi.

My short legs can barely keep up, but I manage to jump into the back seat before the cab rolls away from the curb. "It's not what your Dad would want."

He rubs at his eyes like a cranky toddler. "And you should know. Tell me, what do your files say about my chances of surviving the next few days? Am I a long shot or the clear winner?"

I'm not sure of much anymore, but I'm damned sure that Jake wants his son to fucking _live_. "You _know_ I'm right," I insist.

Duncan turns on me and snarls, "Who's going to protect them, fucking Lamb? You think he gives a crap about my family?"

This is the time to offer some placating advice and get him to see reason. It's the moment where I should convince him that this is nothing more than a tragic accident, that his parents were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I really try hard to find the words, but I suddenly remember the shadow from last night and I know he's right too. "There might be another way," I blurt as my brain starts to work on a plan.

"What, _you're_ going to save us from the Big Bad Wolf?" he snarks, sounding far more like Logan than the sweet boy I remember from two years ago.

"_No_," I counter, "But my Dad can _definitely_ help."

Duncan snorts, "Thanks, but I can handle this myself."

My window of opportunity has now closed. "Then I'm coming with you," I insist firmly.

He sighs and starts to open his mouth, but that's as far as he gets. His features twist as he grimaces in pain, hands flying to his forehead as he falls forward. "Ver--," he starts, grabbing onto my hand as he loses consciousness.

"Take us back to Sloan-Kettering," I yell, startling the driver out of his Iron-Maiden-fueled reverie. When he hesitates, I shout, "_Now_!"

Logan

Cell phone service sucks up here, and I start cursing as Veronica's voice breaks up in my ear. "What was that again?" I ask, spinning in circles as I spiral my way toward Monique and her apo.

"It's Dun…operation…can you come?" That last part is real clear and I halt in mid-circle as she sobs uncontrollably. I've never heard her break down like this and it's definitely a bad sign.

"Of course. Soon as I can get a flight out, I'll be there."

Veronica takes deep breaths and says tearily, "Thank you."

I sigh. "See you soon." The phone clicks off and I watch Monique and Charlie exclaim over some celestial object that nearly sends them into orbit. With another intake of breath, I trudge over to a nearby rock and wish for the hundredth time that I had the guts to tell Veronica my true feelings. Something always holds me back, and I start to think that she's not the only one with trust issues.

Monique walks over to me. "Come take a look."

Charlie is hunched over a notebook and he gestures at me with rapid hand movements. "This is freaking awesome."

He is curiously modern for an old fart with sagging pants. With a small smile, I glance through the eyepiece and whistle through my teeth at a swarm of stars. "What am I looking at?"

My aunt brings over a star chart and flashes a red light on a white blob. "M31. The Andromeda Galaxy."

"How did I miss that?" I plunk my forehead with a phony smile and mutter, "Duncan is real sick. I have to get out of here. Think you can drive me to the nearest airport?"

Her chestnut brows furrow and she nods briskly. "Of course. Then I'll drive across and meet up with you in New York."

I look over at Charlie with a jab of my thumb. "Why don't you hire one of his grandsons to do it for you?"

Monique's smile flashes like red neon as she waves the flashlight in an arc. "All right. Hey Charlie, is Jimmy free? I have a job for him."

And so it's done, paying our respects and all. I find that all my Hollywood illusions about Indians have been dashed, replaced by the grim reality of how they really live. With a half salute, I nod at Charlie and watch as Monique packs up the scope in record time. She hoists it onto her shoulders and ignores my offer to help with the rest of her gear. As we get to the car, I think about giving the lighter to Charlie. He was the catalyst for getting Dave and the others out of prison camp, but in the end, can he really say he's free?

Veronica

Duncan is rushed straight to an operating room and I guess that parental consent is the least of his worries right now. Shortly after the doors close on his gurney, a tall, athletic looking woman jogs down the hall in squeaky Nikes. She flies past me and I wonder if this is Monique's miracle doctor. Let's hope she has better bedside manners than Dr. House.

I return to the waiting room, where the same group of people is killing time in hard plastic chairs that do nothing to improve their collective mood. Malaise practically shrieks at me as I grab a seat in the corner, safe from Granny's knitting needles and the noxious whiff of unwashed boy. A tiny girl stomps on my foot and flashes a toothless grin as she makes her way to a teetering stack of dusty medical journals that have been thoughtfully provided for our reading pleasure. Should I want to immerse myself in the pleasures of cell division and barium enemas, the world is at my feet.

My harried phone call to Logan was hardly my red badge of courage. Between the flood of tears and the river of snot that deluged my face, I was definitely _not_ the poster child for Miss Teen USA. A stronger person would say they are better now, ready to take the world by the tail. But I am not and never have been that girl. That show I put on last year? Was all a fucking act for the benefit of 09ers everywhere. Hell, I was so convincing that I almost bought my own charade. Even my Dad believed it. But it all came crashing down on my head, and now everyone knows I'm a sham.

So here I am, waiting for a guy who may decide to blow me off. Yeah, Logan said he'd be here, but it goes back to those trust issues. Will he really wing his way to me at a moment's notice, or pay me back for betraying him? I know he loves me, but can he really forgive me? Can he ever forget that I thought he was capable of murder? He's buried all that anger in his haste to move on, but emotions shift like a quake, and I know they'll eventually come crashing down like a tsunami. The question is _when_. I hope to God I'm not there when it happens. As for now, I will play pretend, choosing to lose myself in the carnal haze that surrounds him like smoke, because only then can I forget the darkness that hovers over us all.

Logan

We jump on an early morning flight and find seats in the very back of the plane. Monique squeezes between me and a leering git with a horrific comb-over. Florid patches of his scalp peek through oily black strands and I turn away with a belch, tasting last night's overcooked burger with a side of curly fries. My aunt grimaces and we both smirk when the greaser starts sawing logs. She starts to reach for her iPod and I stop her with a raised hand. "Why didn't you tell me about the smack?"

Monique rubs at her arms and crosses them in a classic defensive maneuver. "It didn't seem important."

Maybe she's right. Maybe none of it matters now, but I can't help but feel that the past is far more important than the here and now. "What's Johnny's story?"

Her eyes close slightly and she starts shaking. "We were close friends in college. I went to NYU and he was over at Columbia on a scholarship. He was fucking brilliant, and he threw it all away on a needle."

"And you?"

"I dabbled and got hooked in my junior year. It was a 24/7 party for a few months, until that night when someone spiked my drink with angel dust and I stepped off the roof. Good thing a car stopped my fall, or I'd be dead."

My fingers dig into my palms and it feels like a rock has lodged itself in my throat. "You ever find out who did it?" I croak with growing guilt, thinking that I'm not so different from the asshole that sent my aunt flying to the hospital. OK, maybe my friends aren't dead, but I'm certainly responsible for their loss of innocence.

"It was John. He was pissed that I was thinking of quitting dope, and this was his way of dragging me back in." There's an odd little catch in her voice that jangles my nerves and sets me closer to the edge than I care to be.

"Is that when your doctor friend saved your ass?" Roofies are a sore point with me, and I'll do anything to move the subject along to something else.

"Yeah. I almost died on the table, but she brought me back. And after that, I walked away from the drugs…and Johnny." She extends her left arm and I see the tracks on the inside of her elbow. "Hell of a tattoo, don't you think?"

My smirk lacks its usual bite as I look away and stare down at my feet. "Charlie wants you to go after him."

"Yeah," she replies flatly. "But what's the point? Johnny doesn't want my help."

"What, you're not going to sponsor him?" I spout in mock outrage.

"I'm not even sure I can _find_ him. Most of my connections have dried up."

"Then let me go with you. Maybe the two of us can figure something out." The words fly out of my mouth and quite shockingly, I have no desire to take them back.

Her eyes open wide. "All right. But first we take care of Duncan."

"Right." I rub my temple against the oncoming migraine and suddenly remember why I hate flying. Between the crappy food and the constant changes in cabin pressure, there's nothing to recommend it. But it's the fastest way to get from A to B, and I know my friends need me.

Aaron

"You fucked up, Mack." Aaron takes his roles seriously, and since he knows that his man on the street days are numbered, he is beyond annoyed that the Kanes aren't even close to pushing up the daisies. "They're recovering nicely."

"B-but third degree burns," Mack sputters, stopping when Aaron slashes his hand down.

"It's what they _want_ you to believe, you moron."

Mack's pockmarked face flushes at the insult, but he takes it in stride. "Maybe you're right."

"_Maybe_?" Aaron echoes in disbelief. "So you think _maybe_ that's the reason Keith Mars and Lamb have ICU locked up tight as a drum? You think _maybe_ they sense a threat?"

"Yeah. I guess."

He clamps down on his temper and bares his teeth at the younger man. "Sounds like you scoped the place out."

"Sure did," Mack said proudly. "Told you I was on top of things."

"So you did." Aaron's smile is more genuine and it clearly puts Mack at ease. "And I bet I don't even have to ask about the girl's car, do I?"

Mack gulps nervously and looks away. "Couldn't find it."

"_What_?" Aaron lowers his voice when he sees people staring from the counter. "How is that possible?"

"Dunno, but the car's not at home or at any of the addresses you gave me. I'd say she's out of town."

"Hmm. Not likely. She does some kind of community service and I doubt the judge will let her skip town."

"Whatever. The point is, the car is gone."

That was hardly reassuring, but Aaron let it go. "And the son?"

"Nowhere to be found. The cops are looking for him and every journalist in the state is jonesing for a scoop."

"Of course they are." Aaron knows it's time to close this deal. With a well-rehearsed sigh, he pushes a valise across the table. "This is for all your hard work."

Mack looks inside and frowns. "Where's the rest of my money?"

The kid has cajones and not much else. "It's all there. The deal was, you get the rest of the money if you complete the job. You _didn't_ do what I asked.

"I did my best!" Mack whines.

Aaron touches Mack's elbow to reassure him and almost smiles when Mack jerks his arm away. "Of course you did, son. And now it's finished. So take your money before I change my mind and go live the good life."

The kid grumbles something and shuffles off into the dark, never noticing when Aaron slips out behind him with a determined stride.

Veronica

I've lost all track of time in this windowless space. Part of me remembers nourishment of the vending machine sort, and I'm pretty sure I splashed water on my face at some point, but that's pretty much it. The TV has lost all of its already limited appeal and the stale atmosphere has moved from noirish to nightmarish. The operation ended hours ago, but Duncan is still out cold. Nurse Peggy has been the only bright spot in the grayish-green dankness of the Big C ward, coming down every so often to give me updates and inviting me to an empty bed around the corner. I smile gratefully, but sleep won't come until I know he's OK.

My mind has gone around the bend and back, blaming myself for his condition and the state of his family's affairs. If I hadn't found the culprit, maybe none of this would have happened. But deep down inside, I know I am not culpable for _everything_ in Duncan's fractured life, nor can I take complete responsibility for totally messing up Logan. But I am certainly the catalyst in all these events, and for that, I may never forgive myself.

Things are not as horrible as they seemed before Duncan collapsed. My Dad is protecting his parents and says they're recovering quickly. They blanketed the press with misleading reports and locked up the emergency ward. So no one comes in or out without proper authorization. I reported my suspicions about Aaron and Dad says he has Lamb trying to shake him down.

I start to put my head down when I see someone striding down the hall with a familiar swagger, looking like he owns the place already. When Logan finally spots me, my mouth opens in shock. "You're really here? I'm not imagining you?"

Logan smirks and opens his arms wide. I nearly fall off my chair in my haste to launch myself at him and he giggles when I stumble into his arms. "Don't think so. You look like shit."

My fingers find his spiky hair and pull a little harder than necessary. "Now, is _that_ any way to greet your girlfriend?"

He grins that fuck-me smile that nearly melts me into a pile of goo. "You have something else in mind, Mars?"

I whisper in his ear and am delighted when his face actually reddens. "Umm, not sure I can accommodate you."

"Maybe not, but the hospital sure _can_." Nurse Peggy will be happy to see me get some shut-eye. So maybe I'll leave out the small detail where Logan joins me for some fun.

Logan smiles uncertainly. "Really?"

"Yeah." I walk a few paces and see that he's still a bit flummoxed, stuck to the floor like his shoes are nailed down. "You coming?"

That could be taken any number of ways and I see that he immediately latches onto the sexual aspect of that comment. Logan moves up to me and rubs his hand down my arm. "I sure hope so. Lead the way."

Duncan

Consciousness returns slowly, drifting in and out like the ebb and flow of the tide. My eyes open to a watery, gray-green world and it takes a few long seconds to realize that I can see out of both eyes. I turn my head and see a blurry shape in a chair, immediately thinking of Veronica and the cab ride to the airport. "'Ronica," I murmur, reaching out my fingers and finally meeting bone and sinew as someone looms over me.

"Down the hall sleeping. Want me to get her?" asks a wine-dark voice with a rich French accent.

"Doctor?" I slur sleepily.

A laugh trills in my ear and her identity suddenly registers. "Also sleeping. Can I get you anything?" What the hell is Monique doing in my room?

My mouth is dryer than Death Valley. "Water."

Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she helps me sit up. After I gulp down half the pitcher, Monique asks, "Do you need anything else?"

My mind is still fogged by anesthesia, but a question burns through the haze. "My parents…are they OK?"

"Yes. Veronica's father called last night and said they are doing fine."

"B-but…" I stammer, wondering why Keith Mars would go to bat for my family. "Are you sure?"

Monique touches the side of my face and kisses my forehead. "Yes. Please don't worry. You need to focus on getting better."

Her empathy is so unexpected that my eyes start tearing up. This is not the way it's supposed to be. Monique is a cold, unfeeling bitch who fucks little boys for her own amusement. She rides around in borrowed sports cars and shoots people when she doesn't get her own way. And she definitely doesn't spend time rotting in a hospital ward fetching water for brain-damaged kids. So who the hell is this person? Am I seeing one of her many personalities, or was her kindness always hiding in plain sight?

I stare up at her and my vision suddenly sharpens, revealing the glitter of tears in her emerald eyes and the way her lower lip trembles with fear. For a moment, I am thrown back in time to the Echolls mansion where a quivering Logan awaits his latest punishment, cowering in the corner as Aaron goes to fetch the belt. With a slight smile, I refocus on the present and croak, "Thanks."

Logan

I am not used to this version of Veronica that knows what she wants and takes it. She pulls me along in her wake and shoves me into a tiny closet of a room that is way too close to the nurse's station for my comfort. Her suggestion still burns in my ears and it's only when I'm suddenly horizontal that I realize it's more than a little like something Lilly would say. The frame of the bed presses into my skull as she goes down on me and chases away all rational thought. When I can finally breathe again, I see the desperation in her sapphire eyes before she shutters her emotions and turns away. "Was it good?" she asks flatly and I swallow hard before nodding.

"Yeah. But it's not…" My voice falters for a second before I add, "You're not going to lose me, Veronica."

Her fingers trail down my cheek and the smile she forces out is belied by the sadness in her eyes. "You say that now, but what happens when they send you away?"

When your life is as fucked as mine, you grab at every ray of sunlight that comes your way. Maybe that's why I can push away the rage and feelings of betrayal and just let things be however they are meant to be. I know I have to deal with my payload, but now is _so_ not the time to get into it with her. "I don't know," I admit, rolling away slightly and pulling off my shirt. The rest of my clothes follow in short order. With a lazy smile, I say, "But I'm here with you now. Let's make the best of it."

Veronica smiles tremulously and shrugs off her jacket. The translucent tank underneath is skintight and clearly outlines her wares. She flushes as I drop my eyes and memorize every gorgeous inch of her. "Please," she whispers.

"Please what?" I say huskily, returning my gaze to her face and nearly swooning at what I see in her eyes. Everything she's been telling me is true. Yeah, I'm talking about that love _thang_. That platitude you hear every Valentine's Day, screaming from every Hallmark card and box of chocolates. Oh, sure, there's the raw need that practically shrieks _fuck me_ from her every pore, but it's tempered by that other very real emotion, one that I never thought I'd see again…from _anyone_.

"_You_ know," Veronica says coyly, flashing a sensuous smile that hits me with its best shot and goes straight to my groin. With a shimmy, she pulls her shirt over her head and exposes herself to me. Another slide and her pants are pushed aside, leaving her tanned and golden in nothing but a thong. With another smile, she stands up and puts my hands on her hips. "Will you do the honors?"

"Of course." I follow the course of her G-string to her feet and slowly let my eyes and hands travel up her legs before stopping at the luxuriant thatch of gold between her legs. "Matching colors and everything," I drawl with an evil grin as I hook her legs over my shoulders and go to town on her raspberry swirl, almost giggling as the Tori Amos song plays out in my sick little mind. Her hot little clit jumps and jerks under my tongue and she gasps out my name and comes before I get to the end of my personal soundtrack. I kiss and lick my way to her breasts and soon have her so hot and bothered that she begs me to put her out of her misery. The sex itself is hot and twisted, forcing us down into that hard iron bedstead and its lumpy mattress, creaking loudly with every rotation and thrust of our sweaty torsos. When I feel the approaching wave, I clamp down on my tongue and bury my face in her hair. When we both stop shaking, I nuzzle her neck and whisper, "There's something I need to say."

And wouldn't you know it, Monique chooses that very moment to push through the door and call, "We have business to attend to. Put your pants on and get your ass out here."

I groan in frustration and say, "For Christ's sake, can't a guy get any privacy around here?"

Her snicker is her only answer as she closes the door and leaves me to say my farewells to Veronica. "I kind of promised I would help her find someone."

Veronica smiles in understanding. "It's OK."

It is totally not OK, but I know that what we're doing here is not completely kosher. I am dressed in a wink and before leaving, I feast on Veronica's luscious mouth, scissoring back and forth as I deepen the kiss and pull her hard against me, branding her so completely that her legs buckle. I finish with a kiss to each corner of her lips and say, "I love you, Veronica. And I _will_ be back."


	5. The Scent of Magnolia

**Title**: Free at Last  
**Author**: Peregrine  
**Characters**: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.  
**Spoilers**: Through Episode 22.  
**Word Count**: 20333  
**Rating**: R for sex, language, and violence.**  
Summary**: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.  
**Disclaimer**: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.

**Chapter Five: The Scent of Magnolia**

_Here comes the gun, there goes the flash  
Once the bullet leaves it's never coming back_

Logan

Monique practically yanks my arm out of my socket as she drags me past the nurse's station. "What the _hell_ is your problem?" I snipe, rubbing my shoulder and glaring at her back.

"_You're_ the problem," she intones. "We fly all this way to see your friend and you can't even keep your pants on for two seconds."

"You should talk." Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. "Two seconds after I met you, you kidnapped Duncan and had your way with him." I wouldn't dare do this with Aaron, but I'm still testing the waters with Aunt Money.

"Apples and oranges," Monique mutters with a shrug. "But no matter. Duncan wants to see you before we head out."

I don't get the impression that Money backs away from too many fights, so the fact that she continuously steps away from going at it with me speaks volumes. Even so, I'm still not ready to completely put my trust in anyone right now. "OK." Without sparing her a glance, I shove past her and stride to my friend's room. The sight of Duncan watching TV and laughing at some idiot on a sports channel surprises me so much that I almost trip over his IV cart. "Hey, dude," I say with a stupid grin.

"Hey," Duncan says quietly as he mutes the volume and nods over at the chair near his bed. "Guess you heard about my parents."

"Yeah, man, that totally sucks." The nurse had broken that bit of good cheer to Money and me when we checked in at the desk. "Did you call them?"

He shrugs. "I tried, but Dad was in no shape to talk."

"What about Celeste?"

Duncan turns and looks out at the curtain of night. "She's already been discharged."

That's fucking news to me. "Thought they were both in a bad way."

He sighs. "So did I."

I suppose I should ask the obvious question. "How are you doing?"

Duncan grimaces like he's tasted something nasty. With a rude gesture at his bandaged head, he says, "They ripped a baseball-sized tumor out of my brain. How the fuck do you think I am?"

I pretend to peer through the bandages. "I think the hole matches your complexion."

His laugh sputters like an egg on a hot griddle. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it. So how long are they keeping you here?"

He makes another face. "A few weeks, maybe longer. Deschamps said I'm lucky to be alive."

"Ah, the invincible miracle doctor. What's she like?"

"Besides the blue scrubs and the face mask?"

"Yeah." I know what she did for Monique, and it appears she hit a home run with Duncan as well.

"Who knows? Her assistant's been driving me crazy with all these tests and every time I turn around, some nurse is doping my IV line with morphine."

I giggle. "No wonder you're smiling. That stuff could stop an elephant in its tracks. Just ask Aunt Money."

His eyes crinkle with confusion. "Huh?"

"She used to be a dope fiend, and get this, we're going to shake down some dude who spiked her drink and almost killed her. Ain't that a kick?"

Duncan looks a little sick and that's when I hear the tap of boot heels. When I crane my neck, Monique's green eyes are shooting daggers at me. "It's time," she says icily.

I hang my head for a long beat and finally get to my feet. With a nod at Duncan, I follow Money and decide that keeping my trap shut is the first and last order of business.

Veronica

"Celeste is coming _here_?" I plop into the chair next to his bed and sense the dismay that he's trying to hide from me.

He sips at his water and nods sharply. "That's what she said."

"So soon?"

"Mom checked herself out. She said she wasn't going to lie in a bed when she's perfectly capable of resting elsewhere."

_Damn_. The moment Duncan gets a break, his Mom is back on his case. The last thing he needs right now is a perpetual thorn in his side. My thoughts jump to Logan's outspoken aunt and I think of the possibilities. "Maybe Monique can keep her at arm's length."

Duncan's laugh has a nervous edge. "We're _so_ not gonna go there."

Is he afraid that Money will spill the beans about their little fling, or does he actually fear for Celeste's life? Because truth be told, if it came to a knockdown, drag-by-the-roots kind of spat, it was no contest. Nobody could dethrone the Queen Beeyotch, and I ought to know after going ten rounds with her. "Do you have a better plan?"

He shakes his head with a tense smile. "Does there have to be a _plan_?"

I'm a little disappointed that he's caving back into Mama's boy mode. "I suppose not, but do you really want your Mom camping on your doorstep?"

"Do I have a choice?" Duncan asks tiredly.

Life is supposed to be about choices and free will, but that doesn't apply to minors. "No," I admit reluctantly. "When does her flight get here?"

"She called me from the plane, so…any time now," Duncan says dully. With a sigh, he adds, "Umm, Veronica, you're not exactly my Mom's favorite person. You might want to make yourself scarce."

Logan and Monique are on a mission, and I bet they could use another set of eyes, especially the private kind. "You're so right."

"Sorry."

I wave off his apology. "Call us when the coast is clear."

Duncan doesn't miss the collective _us_ and he barely manages a smile before turning back to the TV and focusing his complete attention on a Yankees game.

Logan

We arrive at a Soho art gallery filled with pretentious wine and cheese types and the kind of bland jazz that makes Muzak seem like cutting edge radio. I yawn widely and let my jaw crack as Monique meets and greets her cadre of Tisch alums. Their nattering buzzes in my ear like an out of tune mosquito as I wend my way through waving palm fronds and pimped-out primadonnas in stilettos.

Cool air wafts against my face and I am drawn to a squarish room off the main corridor. Inviting couches and alcoves promise a welcome escape, so I dive into some cushions and drag out my sketchpad. Hey, what better place to practice my craft?

"Ha," I mutter to myself as I start forming out nightmarish shapes that morph into artsy-fartsy snobs with torturous heels. My snicker echoes off the high ceilings and lingers like the cry of a wounded animal. As my pencil digs into the paper, I wonder why Monique was in such a hurry to leave the hospital. We're supposed to be searching crack houses for Tonto, not eating finger foods and mixing with the eliterati.

"Not bad," a deep voice says.

My pencil jags across the page as I stare up at an Armani-clad guy leaning on the arm of the settee. "Who are you?" I croak, snapping the pad shut and sidling away from the intense chocolate gaze of my newest fan.

Mischief dances in his dark eyes. "A friend of Monique's."

I start to ask how long he's been fucking her, but snap my mouth shut when she walks into the room. "I see you found each other."

That was an odd way of putting it. "And it's love at first sight," I snark with a simpering tone that makes him laugh. His smile is so disarmingly genuine that I almost smile back, only catching myself at the last second. "Am I supposed to know this dude?" I look in Monique's direction and roll my eyes at her Mona Lisa smile.

"Logan, this is Rick Hamilton. He owns the gallery." Her tone is so sweet that I decide she's definitely fucking him.

Rick shakes my hand and points at my sketchpad. "Have you seen Logan's drawings? He's got some real talent."

Damn, I guess he _really_ wants to see my etchings. I'm totally crushed. "It's nothing," I demur. "Just something I do when I'm bored."

"Which is like…_all_ the time," Monique opens her hands and demands, "Give it here." I keep forgetting that my aunt is majorly talented, and probably the last person who should be critiquing my meager sketches.

"Don't think so," I mutter, digging the pad further under my arm and stepping out of reach. But it's not fast enough for Monique, who moves at blinding speed and rips the notebook from my hand. "Hey," I protest indignantly, but it falls on deaf ears as she and Rick start paging through my crappy portfolio. With a pout, I dig my foot into the floor and start tracing a formless design that's on a par with the shitty modern art on the walls.

"Oh.my.god. Will you look at Ginny?" Rick giggles and the sound brings my head up at the oddly familiar jangle. I stare at him with my mouth open and finally look away when Monique throws me a withering look.

Monique turns back to the drawings and I see her eyes start to widen as Rick guffaws over a few more caricatures. Her porcelain jaw tightens as she looks between her friend and me. "_Rick_," she says raggedly, tugging at his sleeve like an errant toddler. "Remember those studies that Rob did back in '89?"

Rick's smile falls away and he nods solemnly. "Of course."

"Show them to Logan." Monique hands the pad back to me, jade eyes glittering brightly with tears.

"But they're—"

Monique interrupts, "_Please_, Rick. For me?"

He sighs unhappily. "Very well. This way."

We fall in behind him as he winds his way around the crowd and down the hall to a set of stairs. I jog down two steps at a time and collide with Monique at the bottom of the stairs. She sways sideways and I catch her with my hands. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask harshly.

Monique shakes off my grip and looks away. "You have to see for yourself," she intones, tripping after Rick as we move into an off-limits room used for private viewing.

My eyes are instantly drawn to the walls and I can't believe what I'm seeing. With a wooden face, I start viewing a series of amazing black and white sketches that parody the same sort of people clogging the gallery above us. Shock stabs through me as I read Rob Hamilton's name on every print, realizing that I've always known this name from my mother's past and that I'm intimately familiar with his work. Half my mother's art collection has this guy's name scrawled on it. And not just ordinary prints for Lynn Echolls. No, they are one of a kind, unnumbered prints. This guy is deservedly famous, and I guess I've unconsciously copied his style. "This is amazing," I say hoarsely, moving faster and faster around the room as I drink in the paintings by osmosis, memorizing every detail for later consumption. And when I make my last tour of the room, I am struck by the knowing look on Monique's face. She reels in shock and her mouth opens in a silent cry. "Money, what is it?" I move in her direction but she is already gone, slipping and sliding down the hall and tearing up the stairs with a clatter of her boots.

I start to follow but am halted by Rick's hand. He turns me to face him and says, "Give her a minute."

"For what?" I still don't get it. What the fuck is going on and why can't someone clue me in?

Rick pulls a straight chair away from the wall and motions for me to take it. When my butt is firmly entrenched, he takes up the pacing I just finished and drags his fingers through his thick shock of black hair. "You know it's not a coincidence," he says quietly, flashing me a look and indicating the prints with a wave of his hand. "It's one thing to copy someone's style, but what you've done…it's extraordinary."

"Look, dude, I'm no Michelangelo, so don't get any ideas." I look at the ceiling and grimace, "There's no fucking way you'll get me up there."

His laugh has a painful edge that translates to an equally crushing grip on my shoulder. "Don't you see? It's all in the blood. Yours and his."

Forget the fucking Indian. This guy is the one on crack. "His?"

Monique hovers in the door like a wraith and drops her bomb with perfect precision. "Don't you get it? This proves once and for all that Aaron Echolls is _not_ your father."

Aaron

He stares up at the six-car garage and knows that his baby is impounded inside, uselessly rotting in its stall. What good is a Ferrari if you can't drive it? Aaron smashes his fist in his palm and stalks down the twisting road that leads to his house. He's still in street drag, completely ignored by the '09er crowd that frequents this area. His trash bag is looped around his wrist and he picks up a can or three to cement his disguise. The good citizens of this town might hate bag people, but they are a common sight as they scour the hills for salvageable garbage.

When he gets to the bottom of the hill, he slips into the dusty Taurus and throws his bag on the floor. For a moment, he sits and stews over the downhill trajectory of his life. It's all gone to shit, and it's all their fault. He has to blame someone, because blaming himself is just not done. He paints the world with many colors, but guilt is a foreign sensation that doesn't live in his emotional palette.

Aaron looks over at his valise and pats it absently, stroking its finely tooled leather and thinking about the money inside. He is 50,000 dollars richer and the world has one less scumbag to deal with. If the local police ever got their collective heads out of their asses, they'd realize that he'd done them all a favor. With a sneer, he thinks that it gives street cleaning a whole new meaning.

He opens the glove compartment and opens a crumpled map of New England. With the sureness of long memory, he traces the route in his mind and knows he'll enjoy the surprise on her face when she opens the door. "See you soon, babycakes."

Duncan 

I don't know what to say to Mom when she arrives. Her neck is bandaged with a plaster that clashes horribly with her yellow pants suit. If Lilly were here, she would remind Mom that saffron is _so_ not her color, but I'm not that heartless. And I'm sure Lilly would also say that there's nothing that can't be cured by a flawless make-up job. Clearly, Mom has been neglecting her Lancôme collection. "Doesn't Mom get it? Lancôme is so last week. Sephora is where it's at." Yeah, Lilly could say that kind of nonsense and somehow make it funny as she pretended to make up her face. Celeste's make-up case had become an urban legend in the Kane family. Never mind her kids and husband, if the make-up somehow got left behind, she'd turn it into a national day of mourning.

But that's neither here nor there, is it? Mom looks like shit, and I'm hardly helping the situation. Worry flares in her eyes as she touches my head and asks, "How are you?"

Obviously better than her. "I'm fine," I say. "Turns out that the epilepsy was a brain tumor."

Her lips tighten. "How could the doctors miss something like that? They did numerous brain scans and nothing showed up."

Her concern is real, and I start to feel like a complete drip for believing that she drugged me. "Dr. Deschamps says that tumors aren't always detectable in their early stages, and even then they can cause problems."

She frowns at my shaved head. "How did you find this woman?"

Nothing good will come of telling her the complete truth, so I lay out a tiny white lie. "Logan's mom needed some surgery a few years back and he remembered the doctor's name."

Mom's eyes narrow and I wonder if she's having problems with my story or the fact that it was Logan who came to the rescue. "Did she get the whole thing?"

I nod. "But she can't assess the damage right away."

Her voice quivers oddly. "Damage?"

My fingers form into a ball. "It was this big, Mom. The structures in my brain could only take so much compression before something gave."

She sinks into the chair and closes her eyes for a moment. When she finally speaks, I know the news will be bad. "Your father might not pull through."

Black spots dance before my eyes as I ask, "B-but I thought…they said he was OK."

"He seemed to be rallying and then had a relapse this morning. Once I check you out of here, we'll go straight to him."

"That's not going to happen." We both look up as Dr. Deschamps plows through the door. "Duncan isn't in any shape to travel, and neither are you, Mrs. Kane."

Mom raises her hand in protest but it falls weakly back into her lap as she sighs. "But my husband…you don't understand…he's dying."

My mouth opens at this revelation. It's one thing to say he's not doing well, but quite another to voice my worst possible fear. "No-o," I cry, hands reaching out blindly and bumping into Mom's as she wraps her fingers around me.

We sit there in stunned silence as the doctor says, "I'm so sorry," and leaves us to our grief.

Veronica 

Logan and Monique could be anywhere. They don't know I'm looking for them, and neither one of them is answering their cell phone. It's been an hour and I'm rather sick of Logan's not so inspirational message. In fact, the next time I see him, I'll remind him to change it.

I find a Starbucks and hook up my laptop. Nobody is online and it seems like everyone is out of town for the summer. With a sigh, I wonder if I should just hang it up and go home. Duncan is recovering and Logan doesn't really need me. I look at my watch and decide to try his phone once more before leaving town.

"H'lo?" he says on the first ring.

"Hey. Where are you?"

"Umm, Soho?" Logan sounds distant and I can almost swear that he's been crying.

Soho sounds like a pretty unlikely place for a drug addict. "What's going on? I thought you were going to find that Indian."

His laugh is splintered with jagged edges. "Damned if I know. We stopped here to see some fuck buddy of Monique's, and next thing you know, this pansy is critiquing my art."

Logan has softened a bit in the past few months, but he'll never completely stop with the asshole routine. It's a defense mechanism that he erects when he's upset. Rather than pointing out the contradiction in his statement, I snark, "Ooh, and I'll bet he just loved that picture of me."

His breath hisses in and out before he whispers, "He had other things on his mind, Ronnie."

Right back at ya, OPJ. "You know what, Logan? I think I'll hang up now. You obviously aren't in the mood to talk, and I've got a plane to catch."

"No, wait, I…please don't leave." He covers the phone and mumbles a question to someone. "This place is off West Broadway. It's called The Hamilton Gallery. I think we'll be here for awhile."

The raw pain in his voice slips a knife between my ribs. "All right. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thanks," Logan says. "And Veronica? It can't be soon enough for me."

Logan 

I'm supposed to feel relief or whatever that emotion is that Hollywood does so well on those movies of the week. And maybe I should feel empty, or angry, or jubilant at this 11th hour news. But as I sink to the floor in a sodden heap, I feel an upwelling of grief that I've shelved for most of a year. Monique and Rick are keeping their distance, sitting in polite bemusement at the opposite side of the room, heads bowed in a conference that effectively walls me out, leaving me as bereft as I've always felt. And of course, Veronica chooses that very moment to ring through and I dumbly answer, wondering how my cell managed to turn itself on.

Her concern is only slightly reassuring, and I find myself trying to push her away, if only to save her from the train wreck of my life. But right before she rings off, I panic and beg her to stay, knowing I can't bear it if one more person dumps me.

I rub at my eyes and call, "So when can I meet this Rob guy?"

Their whispers stop and Monique's eyes burn into mine with a green neon rush. "You can't."

"Why not?" I wait for an answer and when none is forthcoming, I shake my head and say, "Let me guess. He's one of those antisocial types that think all humans are the scourge of the planet."

Rick's fingers are back in his hair and I realize that it's the equivalent of nail biting. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is. You pick up a phone, and let him know that his son wants to meet him." I feel like giggling at the insanity of it all, but am stopped by the deadly serious expression on Rick's face.

Monique touches his shoulder and shuffles over to sit down next to me. "Rob died last December."

I nod like this makes complete sense. And maybe it does in a way, because just about everyone in my life that matters is dead. Why should this guy be any different? "How?"

She cocks her head at my question. "They found his body on the beach. It was just after his San Francisco premiere."

Alarm bells peal like claxons in my skull and I stare at her in horror. "W-when was that?"

"The weekend before Christmas. It was quite the event."

The walls start closing in on me as I remember my parents packing and my mother reassuring me that they'd be back on Sunday and was I sure that I didn't want to come. And it was shortly after that when her drinking and trank addiction sent her spiraling into a funk that never left her. "Christ," I say in a low tone, jumping to my feet and wanting to hit something with all my might. When I turn to face them, I growl, "Was Rob suicidal?"

Monique shakes her head. "Never."

"And this premiere was a success?"

Rick answers, "It was the highlight of his career. Everything changed overnight for Rob. First he was with us, accepting all the accolades, and then he was gone forever."

My chest tightens as bands of anger and outrage course through me. "My parents were there."

Monique confirms this with a solemn nod. "Did Lynn ever tell you what Aaron did?"

Mom never talked about any of that stuff with me. "Nope."

"He managed to steal Rob's thunder by showing his face. There were more headlines about Aaron Echolls offering his patronage than Rob's success as an artist."

That sounds just like Aaron. "Mom came home without him. Said he made all these new friends and wanted to hang out in the Gay City for a few days. Those were his exact words."

Monique's face grows very still and her eyes narrow to slits. "He _knew_."

I'm a bit slower on the uptake than she is. "Knew?" I echo.

"About Rob and Lynn. It went on for years. Maybe it was still going on when he died, and maybe that's _why_ he died."

My fingers dig into my palms at this horrifying news, and without a doubt, my aunt is right about everything. What's more, Aaron might not have been on that bridge when my Mom jumped off, but he's responsible for her death. And so help me God, if I ever see him again, I'll make good on that long ago promise and kill him.

Veronica 

The cab driver grunts when I tell him the destination and barely spares me a glance when I throw down a ten and race into the gallery, knowing that something is terribly wrong but not having the slightest idea how to fix it. The surroundings are modern and tasteful, a concept which seems to escape most modern designers. It's the kind of place that usually invites you to stay for awhile, and if I were in a lurking mode, I'd certainly partake of the free food, which looks fifty times better than the crap from the hospital vending machine. But never mind. The people are stacked like cordwood and Logan is nowhere to be seen.

I ask an official looking woman (Estelle) if she knows where the owner and Monique are hiding. Her imperious eyebrow raises at my slightly mocking tone, but she punches a number into her Nextel and mumbles something in a decidedly ungracious tone. "Some girl is here to see you. Want me to send her away?" She listens to a response that transforms her already unpleasant face into a Lovecraftian moue that radiates pissiness. "Very well." With a jab of her thumb, she points to a set of stairs and strides away. Wow, Estelle obviously failed charm school.

The thickly carpeted stairs mute my footfalls, so they are completely unaware that I'm standing in the doorway, assessing the situation and deciding how to approach Logan. They're all shell-shocked, but he is completely devastated. Seeing him huddled on the floor is like turning the clock back to that night at the Sunset Regent. He's chewing on his nails and staring off into space. Monique is twisting fistfuls of hair around her hand and jabbering in French on her cell phone. The owner looks like death warmed over and I wonder if he'll cast a reflection when he passes the mirror. With his white skin and dark hair, he resembles one of those dramatic stage actors that is destined to play Dracula. He spots me first and motions me over. "You must be Veronica. I'm Rick Hamilton."

I smile faintly and look over at Logan. "How's he doing?"

"Crappy." Logan's voice cuts in rudely and he snarls, "Stop talking like I'm not here."

Rick rolls his eyes and gives me a set of keys. "You two can stay at my place while Monique and I look for John."

"But..." I stop in puzzlement and wonder why a perfect stranger would offer us his digs without reservation. "You don't even know us."

He laughs. "My nephew and I have a lot of catching up to do."

WTF? I stare at Logan and though he smirks back at me, his emotions are shuttered behind the blankness of his dark eyes. "How about it, Veronica?" He comes to life and snatches the keys from my hand with a giggle. With a nod at Rick, he adds, "See you later, Ricky."

Logan 

Rick owns an impressive brownstone in Chelsea that smacks of wealth and privilege. "Wow, guess I lucked out," I crack, knowing that Veronica is dying to know what the hell I'm yammering on about. I do a pirouette and spin her around on the sidewalk before pushing through the black iron gate and running my fingers through the tiny fountain.

Veronica taps her tiny foot and rearranges her carrier bag with fidgety fingers. "What's this about, Logan?"

I spin around again and unlock the massive front door. "Tra-la-la. It's gay Par-ee." She looks baffled and I guess she doesn't know about Chelsea's thriving gay population. I play hopscotch on the pristine black and white checked tile in the front hall and giggle when I spot a Streisand CD and a poster of a heavily muscled Chippendale's model in Rick's living room. "Guess I was wrong about Ricky and Money."

She raises an eyebrow and stares up at the cathedral ceiling and the walnut wainscoting that surroundsthe handsome room."Is he really your uncle?"

My hand finds my forehead and I look down for a few seconds as I try to gather my wits. "Yeah," is all I manage to say as I sink into a decadent chair made from buttery leather. With my hands behind my head and my feet up, I pretend I'm the lord of the manor, though it's only a temporary illusion that is shattered when Rick's sleeping cat hisses at me from a nearby couch and runs into the shadows. "Nice to meet you too, buddy."

"Spill." Veronica thumps down her purse and takes up position on the arm of my borrowed chair.

"Well, it's like this. I guess my Mom had a little action on the side all these years and somehow managed to pass me off as Aaron's son. Damn the Academy! She was a way better actor than they gave her credit for."

Her smile wavers uncertainly at my quip. "So your father...who is he?"

I lean my head back and see a family gallery on the far wall. With a leap, I come flying out of the chair and skip over to the artfully arranged pictures. A quick assessment leads me to believe that the slightly older Rick lookalike must be my long lost parent. "This dude," I say flatly, eyes stopping on a graduation shot with three laughing faces. Lynn Lester, Rob Hamilton, and someone named Jane. "And here he is with Mom."

Veronica's hand rests on my arm as she scans the wall. "It started in high school?"

"Looks that way, but I'll be sure to give Money the third degree when she gets back from her drug raid."

Her fingers tighten on my bicep. "How could she not tell you about this, Logan?"

I hear the anger that hides behind the worry, but it's definitely misplaced. "She didn't _know_, Veronica."

"And you believe that?" she retorts.

With a sigh, I turn her sideways and fold her into my arms. "You didn't see her face back at the gallery. I mean, yeah, she definitely knew Mom was stepping out on Aaron, but that's about it."

"But surely she must have suspected..." Veronica wants to blame someone, but Monique was never part of Mom's life, and there's no way she could have known.

"Don't think so, Veronica."

There's a finality to my tone that closes the subject and shifts it to the next series of questions that any normal person would ask. "Does he know about you?"

I shrug. "Maybe he did, but none of that matters now."

Veronica frowns at my use of the past tense. "What do you mean?"

I gather up all my courage and decide to lay it all out for her. "He died last year. Monique and Rick seem to think he was murdered, and I think they're right. In fact," I stab my finger in the air and continue, "We know who killed him. Can you guess?"

Her perfect features are frozen with fear and she crumples to her knees with a tiny whimper. "Oh my God, Logan. It couldn't possibly be..."

"But it is," I proclaim with glee as I help her to her feet. "And you know what? I'm totally going to return the favor."

Veronica 

I'm having a hard time with this. It's killing me to see the pain in Logan's eyes, because even while he's laughing, he's dying inside. And what proof is there that _any_ of this is true? Isn't logic supposed to dictate what is actually fact?

**Fact**: Lynn was cheating on Aaron.That doesn't mean this guy is Logan's father.

**Fact**: This guy is dead. Could be natural causes. There's no proof that Aaron did it, even if he was in the vicinity that night.

You can't go on supposition. That might be Logan's M.O., but it's not going to hold up in a court of law.

_I'm totally going to return the favor._

His last words scare me the most, because he means what he says. I remember when he came barging in my office about Dylan Goran and he said the same thing. If Aaron hadn't finished the job for him, Logan would have happily stepped in and kicked the guy's ass. Wipe away the smirk and you're left with a deep well of bitterness and a thirst for revenge. And who can blame him? Aaron has destroyed virtually everything in Logan's life. But playing vigilante buys you nothing except possible jail time, and I want be with Logan in real time, not holding his hand through the bars of a jail cell and counting the days till he's out on parole.

I know how he'll react if I test my theories on him. He's a go-by-the-gut kind of guy. Act first, and damn the consequences. With me and Dad, it was easy. He stole one of my hairs and discovered that detective work really _is_ in the blood. But with a dead guy, nobody's going to exhume him or sift through the ashes for evidence. Yeah, I suppose Logan could get a court order, but what's it going to buy him? Peace of mind? A new and improved family? OK, maybe I spoke too soon. _Anything_ would be an improvement over the Echolls clan. Because the way I see it, things can't get much worse for Logan than they are now.

Logan 

Veronica's brain is churning at warp speed. Even as she surrounds me with her arms and tucks her head under my chin, her mind is working on a solution. I want answers, and I know she can help me get them, but I need to absorb all these hard changes at my own pace. And if that means drowning myself in suds and sex, then that's the way of things. It's not _her_ way, though. No, she'll keep at this until someone bends and maybe breaks under the pressure. And I'll be damned if I'll let her attack Monique, who is as much a victim as me. Veronica wasn't there; she didn't see Money's face when the shit came down. Why I feel the need to protect my stranger of an aunt is a question I'm not ready to answer.

I spot a familiar looking bottle on the sideboard. "Hey, Courvoisier. Want some?" She shakes her head as I splash a generous amount into a snifter. I gulp it down and sigh as the warmth spreads to my extremities. "You sure?"

"Yeah." That last is said with a disapproving shake of her head.

"_What_?" I counter defensively, wrapping the bottle under my arm and heading for the stairs.

"_Nothing_." Her voice is a dull thud that interrupts my pity party and jerks me back to her side.

I brush her hair away from her face and cup her cheek with my left hand. "You can't solve this one, Nancy." My voice is petal soft as I lean over and kiss her forehead. "C'mon. It'll be OK."

Veronica hunches her shoulders and steps out of reach. "Do you really believe that?"

I place the cognac on the steps to the second floor and proclaim, "I _have_ to believe that, Veronica. Because without hope, what do I have?" Veronica can't be my salvation—not anymore. If I can't stand on my own two feet, then what good am I to her? I've been a crutch, dragging her down into the endless pit of my own despair. She doesn't seem to mind now, but I know how quickly things can change. Look what happened with Lilly. She didn't step out on me because I sucked in bed, and at some level, she loved dating the son of a famous movie star. But she couldn't take my mood swings, vacillating between joyful mania and dark depression that stretched on for days. And when I wasn't skipping down halls, I was terminally pissed off at the world, blaming everyone but myself for my problems. And then I got jealous and possessive when she pulled even further away from me, following her around until we reached the final breaking point.

So we ended, and when I saw her at the car wash, I knew she had already moved on. It wasn't even a question of some other guy; it was more of an emotional shift. And to this day, I still don't know what happened to that letter I wrote. Maybe I don't need to prove anything to Veronica, but I still want to find it and salvage some truth from the perpetual garbage of my life.

Veronica 

His perfectly sculpted body is etched in golden candlelight as he hovers over me, dark eyes gazing at me with adoration as he moves slowly inside me. "Is this OK?" he whispers, knowing I am slightly weirded out by fucking in front of Rick's giant fireplace, in full view of the front entrance.

"Mmm—" I murmur, but lose my train of thought as Logan's mouth closes over my left breast. His tongue dances around my nipple and teases it to a turgid peak. He releases it with a toe-curling suck and moves to my right breast while his hips rhumba with mine, rotating more forcefully as he pounds into me. "Yessss," I scream when his thumb flicks my clit.

"You sure?" His smile makes me glow all over as he stops and brushes his lips against mine. This is a game where I don't know the rules, but Logan seems happy to instruct me. His fingers slide inside in tandem with his cock, and I nearly choke as an orgasm jolts through me. My limbs flail as I spasm against him and before I can thank him, he follows me into nirvana, hoarsely crying out my name as he comes.

He kisses my shoulder and rolls sideways. "Wouldn't want to hurt you."

No, that is my specialty. "Thanks," is all I can manage as he tightens his hold on me and gives me a breathless bear hug.

"You're welcome." Logan brushes the hair away from my face and is kissing the corner of my mouth when the front door bangs back against the wall.

We both sit up and meet the startled eyes of Monique and Rick, who stumble into the room with a tall, raven-haired guy between them. "Hey," Monique says as she settles the guy onto the couch and starts pulling off his boots. Rick walks away with an embarrassed apology and disappears into the kitchen.

"I don't fucking believe this," Logan mutters with a strangled laugh as he covers us both with a blanket. With a louder tone, he says, "Could your timing suck any worse?"

Monique flips back her mass of red hair and grins. "Let me know when you're decent. I'll be just down the hall."

Logan

Veronica is collapsed on a bed upstairs and Monique is talking to Rick about John's future. Her softly accented voice floats out to the corridor as I creep toward the kitchen for a snack. I duck my head through the door and see them in the breakfast nook at the far end of the large room. The refrigerator is directly across from me and if I make like the fog on little cat's feet, maybe I can sneak away before they spot me.

I am halfway across the floor when Monique says, "Join us, Logan." She beckons toward the platter of food on the table and shoves over to make room for me. I nod gratefully and catch a flash of black and blue before she ducks her head.

"What did Tonto do to you?" I growl, remembering my anger at Dylan Goran when he beat up Trina.

Her laugh tinkles unexpectedly and she turns her face and exposes her black eye. "John was in no shape to hurt anyone, but I guess his dealer didn't like the color of my money."

I raise my eyebrows at Rick, who shrugs and says, "She made me stay in the car."

Monique giggles and asks me, "Want something to drink? We have water and orange juice, but the booze is off limits."

I'm about to admit that it's too late for that, but Rick shakes his head. I watch Monique limp across the floor and I murmur, "What did this guy do to her?"

He sighs. "She won't tell me, but I have a feeling that he didn't walk away from that fight."

"Are you saying that Monique--" My voice falters as she arms herself with a pitcher of OJ and a few bottles of water.

"Better that you don't know," Rick whispers as he stages a bright smile and accepts a bottle from Monique. She tosses the other one at me and proceeds to guzzle juice from the pitcher, completely ignoring my look of mock shock at her appalling lack of manners. She has the nerve to call me out on _my_ rudeness? What a fucking joke that is. When I smirk at her, Monique mugs back at me for all it's worth.

Veronica

My eyes flutter open as a bright ray of sunlight stabs through the wooden blinds. I am alone, but a Logan-shaped imprint still marks the spot next to me. My fingers trace its edges and for a moment, I can smell the faint musk of his cologne. A few minutes is all I have to wallow, for today is the day when I return home.

I can't believe that it's been 3 days since Monique dragged a junkie through the front door. My time here has been almost surreal, filled with sporadic bursts of happiness and manic romps through Central Park at midnight. Between club-hopping, Broadway, and the bums of Times Square, I feel like I've seen and done it all, tearing through the hours like a whirlwind and finishing with last night's grand bang. My legs bend like pretzels as I try standing up and collapse on the floor with a frazzled grin.

With a grimace, I fold my legs into lotus position and think about Logan's behavior over the past few days. He's still crazy and a bit twisted, but damn if he isn't _happy_. The sarcasm has been flying hard and fast, but Monique is clearly capable of lobbing it right back at him. As for Rick, he is quiet and thoughtful, maintaining his distance until Logan is ready to deal with the shocking news that Aaron is not his father.

I've had a change of heart after seeing them together. Some of the mannerisms are so strikingly similar that it catches me up short when I see Rick hanging his head in that way Logan has when he's embarrassed or befuddled. Who needs DNA tests when there's living proof that the two are genetically linked? Even if Rick is only an uncle, it's clear that Logan didn't pick up this habit by studying someone's art.

And then there's Duncan, stuck in a hospital bed while his Dad lies dying on the opposite coast. Celeste flew out yesterday after the doctor assured her that Duncan was well on the road to recovery. In fact, they think Duncan can go home next week. He'll need a lot of physical therapy and may never play sports again, but his vision is 20/20 and he's healing fast. He's trying to be brave, but I can see the worried little boy behind his almost 18-year-old mien. I leave him with a promise to visit Jake and call with a report as soon as I get home.

So I am flying home this afternoon and Logan and Monique are moving on. I hobble over to the window and look down at the sports car that was delivered last night by a laughing Indian (Jimmy Thinks Twice) with huge white teeth shining out from his face like a beacon. His arrival was heralded by a great shout of welcome that probably woke up half the street.

I flounce back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling refreshed and almost..._euphoric_. Damn, is it even possible to feel this way after all I've been through? And can I trust that it's real and lasting and not some teenage delusion? After Lilly died and Duncan dumped me, I never thought I'd find it again. And now that I have, with _Logan_ of all people, I don't know how to proceed. This boy that I love is like a partially read book with folded over pages for all the good parts and blanks for the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I hope I can help him fill in the empty pages.

Logan 

I toss my backpack into the trunk and look over at John and Jimmy as they hover in the doorway. John is so anemically thin that he barely casts a shadow and has so many interlocking tracks on his arms that he looks like a Chinese puzzle. "Is there any hope for that dude?" I mutter.

Monique shrugs. "Perhaps. I signed him up for rehab and Jimmy's going to make sure he shows up."

Wow, someone is actually more fucked up than me. "Bet that'll go over well."

She makes a face. "He's at the end of the line, Logan. If he doesn't kick this time, he'll be pushing up the daisies by year's end."

My foot kicks at a conveniently placed stone. "Ever the optimist, aren't you?"

Monique raises her hand and waves at the two Indians. Only Jimmy acknowledges her gesture with a half-hearted finger salute. With a heavy sigh, she puts the car in gear and says, "I wish I could call Charlie up and tell him that everything's cool, that John is clean and will be coming home soon. But I can't lie to the old man. John doesn't _want_ to get better. They can keep him penned in, but the moment they let him out, he'll be right back to his old tricks."

She flashes me a look and I know she's thinking about my upcoming turn at the bat. "I won't _blow_ this," I whisper to myself.

"I know you won't." My head whips around to stare at Money, but her eyes are glued to the road, seemingly oblivious of my presence. The muscle car purrs under her capable hands and I find myself lulled into a deep sleep that doesn't lift until she shakes me awake and points to a ferry. "We're almost home," she crows triumphantly.

Duncan

Mom hugs me so hard that I can barely breathe. "Mom, it'll be all right." I need to believe this, and I need her to believe it too. "Dad will pull through. Didn't the doctors say that he's rebounded?"

She scrubs at her eyes and nods tearily. "But that's what they said the last time...and look what happened."

It's out of her hands now, but there's no point in stating the obvious. And I can't throw down the God card and urge her to pray, because she's a hardcore atheist. So all I do is take her hand and squeeze, showing that I'm here with her in every way that counts.

Mom glances at her watch and sighs, "I have to go, or I'll miss my flight."

I pat her hand. "Call me when you get in, OK?"

"Of course. And make sure your doctor calls me every day," she demands, sounding more like the Celeste of old, a fact that makes me very happy.

"Anything else, Madame?" I raise my eyebrows dramatically and grin when she shakes her head at my comment.

"Get better, Duncan." Her fingers grip my shoulder hard and then she's gone, leaving a cloud of Issey Miyake in her wake.

Aaron 

His new disguise is one of his best. No one will look twice at a doddering gent with a cane and double hearing aids. He smiles at his cleverness, but his smug grin is hidden by his luxuriant chin whiskers. Aaron steps out of the car and stares at the house he hasn't seen in fifteen years. It looms on the edge of a steep hill, looking ready to tumble into the ocean at the slightest tremor.

He despises this place with its perfectly tended gardens and expansive lawns that sweep down to the sea. It smacks of old money and lace curtain Irish Catholic snobs who look down their noses at common folks from Michigan. But as much as he loathes his dead wife's legacy, there's no one he hates and fears more than Lynn's little sister.

That bitch has the power to destroy him. She's smart, canny, and strong and has developed a sixth sense about guys like him. And now she's turned his son against him. Lynn was the one that got away, but Logan won't be so lucky.

Veronica 

I shoulder my messenger bag and bump against a seat on my way to the back of the plane. Its occupant grumbles and my attention is forced away from the one remaining seat in the last row. My brows raise in alarm as I stare down in shock into Celeste Kane's icy blue eyes.

_What are the odds_? I force a frozen smile onto my face and am about to mouth some pithy comment when the asshole behind me shoves into me. "Get moving," he whines in my ear. That could be taken any number of ways, but I see it as an escape. With an apologetic shrug, I push past Celeste and only breathe a sigh of relief when I settle into my seat. The lady next to me is already immersed in the latest airport bestseller (V. C. Andrews) and has walled herself off with an oversized set of headphones. The shover settles across the aisle and thankfully focuses on the Barbie Doll lookalike that is shoved between him and a grouchy looking guy with a permanent scowl etched on his face.

My own laptop comes out and when they give the head's up, I shove in a pirated _Lost_ DVD and lose myself in Sawyer's dimples for a while. We switch planes in Chicago and Celeste is long gone when I deplane. I wonder why she is slumming on American when the Kane corporate jet is at her beck and call. Perhaps it has too many reminders of Jake and is the last thing she needs right now.

I wonder what drives her now; there is nobody left to resent. My mom is long gone and I am out of Duncan's life. Lilly is busy pushing up the daisies and Logan is on the Kane's blacklist. As I watch scores of passengers making their connections, it suddenly hits me. The same flame that burns in Logan and Duncan is probably eating away at Celeste too, only hers is a cold, guttering candle on a rain swept windowsill, dying from the inside out and waiting for the world to notice.

Logan

Monique grows quieter with each mile and when we finally swing through the gates of the Lester domicile, her hands are clutching the wheel with a death grip. She sweeps her fingers through her chestnut mane and steps out of the car. With a heavy sigh, she stares up at the cottage and mumbles, "So here we are."

The house has that claustrophobic, shuttered look that broadcasts _empty house_ to any would-be cat burglars. "Wow, they really rolled out the red carpet," I comment sarcastically

"Only thing missing is Joan Rivers."

Her snark lacks its usual bite and prompts me to ask, "This place wig you out or something?"

She kicks her foot in an idle motion and shrugs. "_Maybe_. Look, I don't think anyone's here. I thought Dad and Sally would be home by now, but apparently they were delayed."

_Or they never intended to come back_.

Neither one of us says what we're thinking, but it hangs in the air between us like a cloud of exhaust. "Whatever. We can always go to your place."

Monique considers my idea for a long beat. "I guess. It's not...I mean, it's a mess and I'm not really set up for..._guests_."

Is _that_ what I am to her? OK, I can deal. Money never intended to take me in. She was going to dump this on Dave and make it _his_ problem. I _suppose_ I can see her point. Can I honestly say I wouldn't do the same in her shoes, _especially_ with her history? I'd seen the way she dumped John on his nephew and hightailed it out of there, and I was starting to see the same pattern here. Once an addict, always an addict. Doesn't matter if you smoked it, snorted it, or drowned yourself in it. "This was _your_ idea, remember?"

She swings her other leg like she's ready to dropkick me. After muttering something in French, she points at the car. "Let's go."

And with that, she 180's the car and roars off in the opposite direction at a punishing speed, pushing the car to its limit as we snake around a curve and almost colliding with an old man shuffling on the side of the road. As we scream past him, he looks straight at me and waves. I flip him the bird and giggle as Monique lights up and throws me a disgusted look. With another laugh, I throw out my arms dramatically and decide that even if I'm going straight to hell, I might as well enjoy the ride.

Veronica

The plane ride is uneventful and I am back in my dented car before I know it. Duncan's request to check on his father is ringing in my ears as I head out to the PCH. It won't be my first stop, but it's definitely on my agenda. My phone rings and I smile at the sight of Logan's name. "Hey, how's life on the Island?"

He snickers. "It sucks. You home yet?"

"Not quite. So what's Grandpa Dave like?"

I hear this weird sound and wonder if he's grinding his teeth in frustration. "He's still on the continent. Money found a postcard that said they were having such a great time in Tuscany that they decided to extend their stay."

Poor little rich boy. Damn, I know it's a cliché, but it's completely true. This is one of those 'I don't know what to say and whatever I say will be inadequate' types of things. "Is that so bad?" is all I can offer after an uncomfortable silence.

Logan giggles nervously. "Umm, well, that depends. Dave's been described as a dog loving psycho with a fondness for old malt."

I roll my eyes. "Sounds like it's right up your alley."

"_Thanks_." He starts to say something else but is interrupted by static. "You still there?"

"Yeah. You were saying?"

Logan snarks, "Nothing. Just bitching about Money's house."

"What, a multi-million dollar home isn't enough?" I tease.

"Money's_ home _is nothing more than a fishing shack. One strong breeze and this place will be history."

I'm sure he's exaggerating. "Sure it isn't one of those cute little cottages that sell for a half million a pop?"

His response is part cough and part laugh and I'm pretty sure there's a fuck thrown in there for good measure. "More like three quarters, but who's counting?"

"So what's the problem?" I ask sweetly, trying to maintain a straight face as I take the Neptune exit.

"Besides the gas lights and the lack of indoor plumbing? I can't think of a thing."

Now I know he's completely bull shitting me and I throw some double talk back in his face. "Aww, I think those little half moons are kind of cute."

"You talking about my ass or the privy?" he jokes.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I simper.

"Actually…" Logan starts, then stops when Monique says something in the background. "Hey, we're going for steamers. Call me later?"

"Sure. And Logan?" I want to remind him that I'm here for him, but the already tenuous connection chooses that moment to cut us off. When I try calling him back, it goes straight to voicemail and I hang up with a hiss.

Logan 

I'm not sure of many things, but I am sure of this. Steamers are probably the grossest thing I've ever seen in my life. Even worse is watching people downing them with their guppy mouths. When Money offers me some, I fold my arms and snark, "Didn't you know? I'm allergic to shellfish."

She shoves the menu at me. "So what? There's plenty of other stuff on the menu."

I sniff like I'm offended and eye the greasy paper. "No thanks. I'd rather starve."

Monique rolls her eyes. "Look, I know you're pissed about…"

"_Don't_ even start with me, Money. You live like you're one step away from the street, and for what? Do you think anyone cares about all your good works? Your martyr act isn't fooling anyone!"

Her fingers clench and unclench, but that's the only sign that I've gotten to her. "Maybe you're right," she says hoarsely, standing up so abruptly that she knocks over her iced tea. I start to follow her but she's already off at a dead run, leaving her keys in the sand as she barrels down the pier and heads for a nearby sailboat. She grabs the rope and tosses it in the boat. By the time I get to the end of the dock, she is already out of earshot and headed for the open sea.

"Fuck!" I turn abruptly and nearly knock a tiny old woman off her feet. "Sorry." My voice is cross and I'm madder than a hornet, but none of that fazes her.

With a gracious smile that crinkles her eyes, she declares, "It's OK. She's impossible to deal with when she gets in one of her moods."

My mouth opens and closes. "You know my aunt?"

The woman grins widely and sweeps off her sun hat. "Of course. I practically raised her." With a courtly bow, she adds, "Sally Lester. And you must be Logan."

Now I am really out of my element. With a bemused smile, I do a little hop and ask, "So where's Grandpa Dave?"

Her eyes cloud up. "He was rushed to the hospital last night. We came home a little earlier than expected and he complained of chest pains."

"Is he all right?" I ask quietly.

Sally offers a faint smile. "As ornery as ever."

"Can he have visitors?" It's the right thing to say, but it's probably the last thing I want to do.

"Sure. But I have to warn you, he'll have nothing good to say about your parents."

I shrug like I don't give a shit. "Whatever. So what brings you down here?"

She laughs guiltily, "He asked for steamers with butter, and this place is the best clam place on the island." It's not the kind of thing that a cardiac patient should be eating, but it's none of my business.

Crap. I feel like kicking myself for being such an ass to Monique, but it's too late. She has set sail and is headed toward god knows where, and judging from the sky, a storm is brewing in her wake. "What about Monique?" I ask with a nod at the darkening sky.

Sally tucks her hat under her arm and gazes at me thoughtfully. "She can take care of herself. You coming?"

"Sure." It's not like I have anything better to do. We walk back to the parking lot and I wait in the car while she fetches her steamers. When she finally emerges, she surprises me by jumping into the passenger seat. "Hope you don't mind me riding shotgun." "Not at all. Where to?" "Oak Bluffs. And then home." I don't want to read anything into that, but if that's an invitation, then I'll definitely take her up on it. 

Veronica

"How is Jake doing?" I ask as my father takes me aside and hugs me hard.

"A little better," Dad reports with a sigh. "If he makes it through the night, he'll probably pull through."

"Thank God. Duncan will be so relieved."

He sighs again. "About that..."

_Damn_. "Let me guess. Celeste dropped by for a little chat."

His face flushes at my ever sharpening detective skills. "Don't you think it's time to let go?"

Now it's my face that's flaming, but not with chagrin. "He's my _friend_. And I promised I'd call."

Dad touches my shoulder with a gentleness that is belied by the resolute set of his jaw. "I think Celeste has it covered."

_Wow_, I should find Celeste and shake her hand. She's completely solved my ex-boyfriend problem, and now I can move on with a clear conscience. _Only_...why do I want to punch her in the face and tear her hair out? Why do I want to stomp on her instep and eat her Pradas for lunch? Becky James would have a field day with this, but I don't plan on cluing her in anytime soon. She'd say the right things, but she'd be jotting her secret notes about Veronica Mars being a total fuck-up. With a gooey smile, I say, "Does she now? That's _so_ sweet of her."

He raises his eyebrows at my sarcasm and shakes his head. "She appreciates everything you've done for Duncan, but she made it clear that she wants you to back off."

Ah, passive-aggressive behavior at its very best. Do an end-run around Veronica and fall on Keith's tender mercies. It's not her usual game and only shows how close to the bottom she is. At any other time, I would confront the bitch to her face, but there is little to gain from beating someone when they're down. And so I let my father believe I'm taking his advice and gracefully backing away from the Kanes. "All right."

His eyebrows do another dance before settling into a reflective rumba. "_Really_?"

I nod to emphasize my acquiescence and decide that my acting skills are at least on a par with Aaron Echolls when Dad smiles in relief and claps his hand on my shoulder. "Ready for some lunch, kiddo?"

God, he hasn't called me that in years. "Sure thing, Pops."

Logan 

I look up at the portal and watch Sally walk ahead of me for a second. The very last thing I need right now is another hospital or reminders that the people close to me are dropping like flies. If I did one of those Kevin Bacon things, the only people left alive would be one degree of separation. And even that is being blissfully optimistic.

Sally waits patiently near the elevator and only pushes the button when I get close. "Dave can't wait to meet you."

I offer a hesitant smile, but as soon as she turns away, I look at the ground and roll my eyes "Why don't we get a mirror?"

Her blue eyes crinkle like she's not sure how to take that comment. "What for?"

God, can the world stand another joke killer? "Umm...aren't I just a reflection of him?"

Her features shift like blowing sand. "You'll have to wait and _see_."

"Wow, a grandmother _and_ a comedian," I crack as I shift my weight back and forth, feeling the pit of my stomach plummet when we reach the fifth floor.

Sally stops me with her hand. "If he says something nasty, try not to take it personally."

"Will do." Obnoxious is my middle name, so why should a cranky old bastard bother me?

Duncan

There is an unhappy note in Veronica's voice as she discusses my Dad's condition. "So you actually got to see him?"

She hesitates. "Not exactly."

Now that the fog has lifted from my brain and the God of Clueless is nothing but a broken idol, I completely know the score. "Mom got to him first."

Her laugh has a nervous edge. "In more ways than one," she answers cryptically.

I skirt past her weird answer and say, "Don't worry. Mom called me about an hour ago and gave me an update."

"_Good_."

"And she really appreciates what you've done…"

Veronica interjects, "Now where have I heard that before?"

I've always been caught in the middle, staving off battles between Lilly and Mom. When Veronica came into my life, it took the focus off my sister, but my role never wavered and I'm kind of tired of playing peacemaker. But more than that, I know that nothing good will come out of this. What happens if she goes after Aaron? The odds are stacked against her and I might just lose it completely if he takes someone else away from me. "Look, Veronica, I know what you're thinking, but you have to let this go."

She mutters something that rhymes with duck. "Don't you see, Duncan? It will always be this way. It doesn't matter who you go out with because they'll never be good enough."

Part of me wants to shout back at her and tell her she's wrong, that she doesn't know my mother, but then I remember when I brought Meg over for the first time and later heard her referred to as 'that Manning girl with the slutty sister'. "And you're mentioning this because?"

"You're my friend, and I'm trying to help."

Her version of help is interrogation and torture for the unlucky soul who crosses her path. Logan may think that her Nancy Drew routine is scorching, but it's always left me cold. "So what do you want me to do, call my Mom and beg her to give you access to my Dad?" I ask flatly.

"That would be a start," she replies eagerly.

It's a waste of time, and we both know it. "Sorry, but it's not going to happen. The best thing you can do right now is stay away from my parents."

She sputters, "B-but, you don't understand..."

"I have to go. The doctor's here," I lie, clicking off the phone and staring out the window with a tight smile. With grim resolve, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pull myself shakily to my feet. My clothes are folded neatly over the back of the chair across the room and it seems to take forever to get there, but when I finally arrive, I know what I have to do.

Logan

Meeting Dave is a non-event, because he's passed out in his bed, drool hanging like an icicle from the corner of his lip. Sally frowns and wipes it away with a tissue, but he never stirs. I take a good long look at this guy who is supposed to be my clone and decide that he looks great for a geezer in his 70s. Perhaps his state of preservation is closely tied to his alcohol intake and I make a mental note to blow off my rehab and get right back off the wagon. If I do half as good as Dave Lester at his age, I'll be doing damned good. He's been married three times and has sired an equal number of gorgeous daughters and still has a way with the ladies. How bad can that be?

I sigh at the worry on Sally's face that disappears when she looks back at me. "Guess we should let him rest," she says quietly.

"We'll come back in the morning. Let me take you home." I grab the bag of steamers from her lifeless fingers and she never notices when I chuck it in the trash on my way out.

We drive in silence and she directs me back to her house by the sea. All is dark and I feel a little creeped out by the silence, broken only by the distant hissing of the waves. "You sure you want to stay out here by yourself?"

Sally shakes her head and opens the door. "Of course not. You're staying with me."

Damn, the invitation was real, though I wonder if it was initially offered out of politeness instead of need. "All right, but just for tonight."

She frowns at my suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous. Monique has no room in that tiny house, and you'll be at each other's throats before the day is out."

Been there, and totally done that. "Yeah, I see your point."

She fumbles for her key and I follow her into the quiet tomb of the Lester mansion. As she flips on some lights, it occurs to me that this is a prime opportunity to pump her for information. Since Monique is MIA and runs away at the drop of a hat, Sally is the perfect candidate for my Joe Hardy routine. That I am preying on a lonely old woman is beside the point. She knows Rob Hamilton and she was there all those years ago when my mother came home to announce her engagement. This might be my last chance to find out what really happened.

Aaron 

The bitch is off the grid. No listings in the phone book and no signs that she even exists in this place. He finds his way into town and warms up a seat at the Black Dog. The fabled tavern swims with life and he sees a few familiar faces from back home. His hand starts to lift as Ted Danson walks by with his wife Mary but it drops when he remembers his disguise. With a shake of his head, he sips at his ale and plots his course.

He is about to pay his bill when he spots a sun-speckled golfer with a pink scalp that matches his Izod shirt. He doesn't remember much, but he remembers that Dave Lester loves to golf and has an inner circle of cronies that are regulars on the course. This guy fits the profile and has to know the old fart. Aaron shuffles up and taps him on the shoulder.

Izod guy turns abruptly and nearly deposits his malt down Aaron's front. "Yes?" he says impatiently.

"Pardon me, are you a friend of Dave Lester's?"

The man's eyebrows rise slightly. "I know him. Why?"

"I'm looking for a photographer, and I understand his daughter is in the business. Trouble is, I have no idea how to get in touch with him. His house is still closed up and his kid isn't listed in the phone book."

Izod guy's eyes start thawing. "Her studio is out on the point. You can't miss it. If you follow the twisty road out of town, it's the last driveway before the road dips south."

Aaron dips his head in thanks. "I'm sure I can find it. Thanks."

He shuffles out with the baggy-butt stride that is common to the over 70 set and never sees Izod guy reaching for his cell phone.

Veronica 

I sit on my hands and work on my frown lines. It beats feeling sorry for myself and adds years to my face. I didn't even have to light up a cigarette or work on a perpetual tan to look 30. Dad is out chasing bad guys and me…I'm just waiting on the telephone. But he never calls, and it's been four days since I last saw him. I know he's checking voicemail, because the inspirational greeting changes every day.

Here's what I don't get. The two men in my life don't want my help. I get off on helping other people and they've hamstrung me six ways to Sunday. Duncan says I have to let go and Logan says I can't solve this one. Don't they have faith in me? Don't they know I'll do the right thing? I always get my man, and this time is no different. The bastard is out there killing people and he has a good chance of beating this rap.

No one can prove that he lit the match that burned down the house of Kane. And no one can prove that he hit a home run with Lilly's head. And certainly no one can link him to Rob Hamilton's mysterious death upstate. Only…maybe _I_ can.

My knee rustles against a pile of newspaper and I stare down at last year's headlines from the San Francisco chronicle. Rob Hamilton's handsome face looks up at me and I suddenly see bits and pieces of Logan in that smile. With a determined frown that makes my other creases cower in the folds of my forehead, I stab in a few numbers and get Dad's travel agent on the phone. "Hey, Sheila. Can you find me a cheap flight to San Francisco?"

She asks a few questions and I am soon booked on an afternoon flight. I fold up my papers and place them at the bottom of my suitcase. I repack all my New York clothes and am on the road in under 15 minutes. A hastily scribbled note is the only indication that I've skipped town, and by the time Dad gets it, I'll be in the air. I suddenly remember that I'm due downtown for some f2f at the food bank, but that obligation quickly disappears when the social worker hears my fake cough.

"Hope you feel better, dear," she says.

"Thanks."

I cough again and she murmurs sympathetically. "Why don't you take the rest of the week off? I'm sure that Miss James will understand."

Becky James is in charge of the food bank? Is the sky falling or something? "What happened to Consuela?"

"Gone out on maternity leave."

"And Becky just happened to step in?"

"Yes, isn't that great? We are so fortunate to have her on staff."

I roll my eyes and say sweetly, "That's awesome. Tell her I'll come by as soon as I'm…as soon as my cough goes away."

"Sure thing, sweetie."

Logan 

Sally brings me coffee and is about to sit down when her cell phone rings. She listens intently for a moment and walks over to a set of French doors. "I have no idea where she is. Why do you ask?" Her face pales slightly and she finally nods. "Thanks for the warning." She rejoins me and sips carefully at her iced tea, smiling every so often but making no attempt to explain that rather odd conversation.

"So what has Monique done now?" I ask lightly.

Sally sighs. "That was our friend Bill. Someone was asking for her down at the Black Dog."

My hand jerks and coffee sloshes all over her wicker table. "_Who_?"

She hands me a pile of napkins. "Nobody we know."

"So why call you?" I tighten my grip on my mug and hope she doesn't notice that the blood has left my fingertips.

"She's not in the book, and I guess this guy wants to hire her."

My left hand is shaking so bad that I bury it in my pocket. "What's so strange about that?"

Sally knots her fingers together. "Not much, except Bill thought something was off with this guy."

I jump to my feet and start pacing. "Off _how_?"

She touches my arm as I pass by her chair. "Well, Bill couldn't really put his finger on it, but he said everyone on the island knows Monique and how to get in touch with her. And most of her work is through referrals from other clients, not people showing up out of the blue."

On my second trip past her chair, I pause for a second and ask, "So he sent the guy packing?"

Her lips twitch slightly. "Bill directed him to a local fish and tackle store. Monique lives on the other side of the island."

I should feel relieved, but I'm not at all reassured. Money is still missing and my faux Pa is very likely staging another performance, only I suspect he's inching ever closer to the ultimate denouement. The curtain may close on us both, but you can be damned sure I'll take him down with me. "We have to leave," I blurt, widening my circles until I reach the room's perimeter.

"But we just got here," she counters gently.

I stop in front of her chair and stare down at her. "Don't you get it? He's coming for me, and he'll hurt anyone who gets in his way."

Sally's brow crinkles in confusion and I realize how crazy I must sound. "Who's coming for you?"

"_Aaron._" The words slither from my lips like parseltongue and surround us with twining malevolence.

Her eyes widen. "He's out of jail?"

My head bobs like a marionette. "His fucking fans bailed him out."

She's not the least bit phased by the f word. "But why would he come here? Surely it violates his parole."

A giggle escapes before I can rein it back in. "Sure, but he's not about to let a little thing like the law get in his way."

"Perhaps we should call his parole officer."

I shake my head in frustration. Sally comes from a time when people believed in the system and the system actually worked. Now it's nothing but petty bureaucracy and rampant corruption. "Too late for that, Sally. I know we can't prove it, but that guy in the bar was Aaron in disguise."

Her lips form an O. "You're his son. Why would he want to hurt you?"

I smirk and hang my head for a second. When I raise my eyes, I suddenly focus on the graduation photo that graces the mantle. It's the same one I saw in Rick's house, and I'm mesmerized by the way my mother practically leans into Rob, seeming to sway in the breeze like a hothouse flower. Without thinking, I sweep the picture into my hands and nearly throw it at Sally. "Because of _them_. I know they were lovers, and I know…it never stopped until the day Aaron murdered Rob."

Her iced tea crashes to the floor and splinters into a zillion pieces. I look down at the ruins and think it's a rather fitting conclusion to my little drama. With a tight smile, I crunch through the glass and return to my seat. "There's _more._"

Sally is fully focused on me and once I start talking, the dam breaks and the vitriol pours out of me. I leave nothing out and when I finish, I realize that the sun has stolen the night away and a new day is upon us.

Veronica 

My life is a big fat lie. I sneak around and spy on my friends and use them when I have to. There's a price to pay for doing the right thing, and I know that nobody but Dad truly understands. Wallace goes along with it, but there's always that element of uncertainty hovering over him. And Logan? He thrives on breaking the rules, so what's a little B&E between friends? But Duncan doesn't get it. I piss him off, and while he may still be attracted to me on some level, we've been over for a long time. I can't be the girl he wants me to be. I can't return to the halcyon days of our puppy dog romance, all hearts and flowers and sickly sweet endearments. And even if a remote part of me remembers what it's like to want him, I don't think I can ever forgive me him for fucking me and leaving me alone.

I stare up at the Pyramid building and decide to take the tour. It's not like I have anything better to do in the next few hours. There are four hours to burn between now and my downtown meeting at a trendy art gallery. The owner is one of those crazy busy types with phones in both ears and a PDA jammed in his back pocket, but when I mention Rob Hamilton's name, he clears an hour in his busy schedule so we can chat. I always used to despise sycophantic name droppers, but now that I see how many doors I can open by uttering the right syllables, I'm all for it.

The tour starts and the guide drones on in a bored baritone. We get to the top of the town and I marvel at the view. The place is bristling with security, but when I pull out my digital camera and make like a tourist, they completely ignore me. It's a pretty cool building, but the end of my visit still leaves me with three hours. If I had any money, I could have some real fun here, but I'm on a tight budget and can only afford a quick hotdog from a street vendor. My phone has been ringing every fifteen minutes and I've logged at least a dozen calls from my Dad. He's ripping mad at my taking off without a word, and says that my note isn't going to cut it. When he gets through with me, I'll be grounded till I turn 30 (his estimate is higher, but I'm an optimist).

I'm tempted to turn my phone off, but I might miss Logan's call when he gets around to me. I know he's not blowing me off on purpose and has a lot of shit to deal with. But you know, my patience only goes so far and I'm starting to prickle with annoyance. The boy has a way of getting under my skin, and now that he's holding my heart hostage, I'm putty in his hands. Can't let that little tidbit get out or my reputation is ruined.

Aaron 

He stares at the bait shop with hands fisted at his sides. Anger blows through him like a gale force wind and leaves him quivering with rage. When it finally subsides, he shakes his head at his own stupidity. Never trust the locals, especially the kind that live in a cloistered community like the Vineyard.

Aaron finds his way back to his car and decides to return to the Lester estate. Sooner or later, his luck is going to change and someone's going to lead him straight to Monique. And when he gets there, he's going to finish what he started all those years ago, only she won't be walking away from this one.

Logan

Sally puts me in Monique's old room. It's on the third floor, and light pours through a floor to ceiling expanse of glass that spans the entire length of the house.

Her head cranes around and she tugs absently at her necklace. "This is where they worked."

"_They_?"

"Monique and Rob." She frowns slightly as she asks, "Didn't she tell you?"

I snort. "It never came up." Damned if I know what _it_ is, but the mystery is soon cleared up when Sally gestures at a line of oil paintings that dot the walls. My eyes widen as I recognize Monique baring her soul in a variety of back-breaking positions. "No fucking way," I swear as I get to the last picture. Dots of sweat bead her brow and her exquisite body is so realistically flushed that I realize he must have fucked her before he painted her.

Sally hangs her head. "Monique loved him from the moment she laid eyes on him. It never mattered how he treated her; she always came trotting back to him when he showed up."

Jesus Christ, he was doing my Mom _and_ her sister? I want to scream at Sally and ask how she could let this happen, but I know it's not her fault. Money is cut from the same cloth as me. We both fall head over heels and never look back. Doesn't matter if the object of our affections shits all over us. We're both starved for affection and will take whatever we can get. "What, my mother wasn't enough for him?" I crack a smile, but the bleakness in my heart is surely reflected in my eyes.

"I'm sorry." She starts to reach for my shoulder but I step out of reach.

I'm supposed to assure that everything is cool, that it's all water under the bridge and I'm totally over it. But Sally wisely withdraws when I turn my back and stare out at the ocean, effectively cutting her off from my deep well of misery. Why infect someone else with my pain? I haven't even begun to process the recent changes in my life, yet every time I turn around, I'm assaulted by yet another nasty twist of fate. How can I make it stop? Was this how my Mom felt when she threw herself off the Coronado Bridge? Did she feel trapped by her existence, encased by the silken prison that Aaron Echolls had spun around her?

My forehead touches the cool glass and I look down on the churning swells as they crash on the rocks. Should I repeat history and fling myself off a cliff? I almost think it might be worth it if it means the knife will stop twisting in my gut. But then I think of Veronica, and a smile works it way to my face. _She_ is the only thing standing between me and oblivion, and even if I can't believe in myself, Veronica sees something worthwhile. I have to hold on to that, because it's all I have right now.

Duncan 

I've done stupid things, but leaving the hospital is probably the dumbest. The morphine wears off too quickly and by the time we cross the Bourne Bridge, my vision is swimming with black dots and the pain is starting to shut me down. I can barely talk when we arrive at the dock, but I manage to throw a wad of cash at the driver and stumble to the ticket counter. The ferry is mostly empty and I sit on a hard bench and squint at the rain lashing against the windows. The boat ride seems interminable and I'm relieved when we arrive in Vineyard Haven. The storm has driven everyone inside and I find safe haven at the Black Dog, where I order tea and toast and hope I can keep it down long enough to pay my tab.

An hour passes and I order a second cup of tea with one hand and hit the redial button with the other. But after my battery nearly runs down, I decide that Logan and Monique aren't in a talkative mood. I dig in my wallet and a folded five falls onto the table. When I open it up, a battered business card slides into my palm. The words are hard to make out, but I finally decipher a number and a street name. I shove back the chair and run smack into a waitress as she tries to do an end run around me. Bone hits sinew as her elbow connects with my rather flaccid 6-pack and I mutter a few inventive curses when I land face down in a basket of red-hot steak fries. "Fuck," I yell, throwing her fingers off my arm and tossing her tray like a Frisbee. It clatters against the door to the kitchen and startles a young waiter with a tray full of drinks. He sidesteps the flying missile but loses his balance, dumping a half-liter of Coke and an iced tea into the lap of a woman nursing her baby.

"Oh my God," I moan as the mother and baby start screaming in unison. "I'm so sorry." With a bent head, I stuff some money into the waitress's hand and manage to sidle past the chaos and stumble out through the bar.

"Wait," the waitress calls as her sneaker-clad feet carry her swiftly to my side. "You're in no shape to drive."

A laugh works its way through my humiliation. "I'm _not_ drunk."

Her hand touches my forehead and comes away with a rusty coating. "No kidding," she says earnestly.

I squint at her through a haze of pain. "Can you get me drugs?" I croak, only half-joking as I sag against the doorway.

Her lips twitch slightly. "No, but I know someone who can." She wraps her rather strong hand around my forearm and guides me out to the parking lot. Rain splashes against my face as she stuffs me into a Mini Cooper and swears at the leak in her sunroof. "By the way, I'm Valerie."

"Duncan," I slur, leaning back against the headrest and barely noticing when she floors it and squeals out of the parking lot in front of a taxi and a pissed off kid on a bike.

She wakes me up when we get to our destination and I blink at the sight of another hospital. "Not going in there." I shake my head, but she's already coming around to my side of the car and I know there's no choice.

"Come on, big guy." Valerie's arm goes around my waist and when I turn, our faces are only inches apart. My eyes drop to her lips before returning to her dark eyes and I'm struck by something deeply familiar.

"Have we met before?"

"Nope."

Valerie propels me forward a few feet and I cast a sideways glance that takes in her tall, dark beauty. My body tightens like a bow and my pants feel three sizes too small. With a disgusted shake of my head, I let her lead me to the emergency room and sit meekly in the corner when she takes my insurance card and says, "Down, boy."

Veronica

The gallery owner (Jeff Locke) barely glances at my phony badge before turning his back on me. "Is this really necessary, Detective?" he says stiffly.

His stoop-shouldered build belies the unlined planes of his face. I move to the window and force him to turn his gaze on me. "I'm sorry to put you through this, Mr. Locke, but we've uncovered some new information."

Locke folds his hands together and sinks into a chair. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe. For the last year, all I've heard is that it's a cold case and would I please stop calling."

I scrape a chair away from his worktable and make myself at home. Ignoring his raised eyebrow, I pull out my folder and pretend to scan a dozen lorum ipsums before offering a falsely bright smile. "Then I'd say it's your lucky day."

He sniffs like he smells something rotten and leans back slightly. "Let me save you some time, _Detective_ Drew. Everyone who knew Rob loved him, and I can't think of anyone who'd want to hurt him."

That's what they always say…until someone dumps their universally loved one into the drink. As for the lame handle, it was all I could think of when I bought that fake ID from Cliff. I peer down at my notes and ask, "Not even Aaron Echolls?"

Locke looks at me like I've lost my mind and shakes his finger at me. "You've been reading the Star."

I shrug like he's caught me in the act. "I'm well aware of his generosity…"

He sweeps out his hand dramatically to encompass the large room. "_This_ happened because of him. Our internship program was only possible with _his_ contributions. So if you're implying that he had something against Rob…I don't buy it."

Aaron was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and he'd clearly hoodwinked his adoring flock. "I'm sure it seems that way, Mr. Locke, but as it turns out, Mr. Echolls had _plenty_ of reasons to go after Rob."

Locke leans forward and hisses, "I suppose this is the part where you'll tell me about Lynn and Rob's affair, right?"

I'm slightly puzzled by his animosity but decide to roll with it. "Among other things…"

His voice cuts in stridently, "It's _old_ news. Everyone knows they were lovers back in the day."

I consult my cut and paste notes and rattle them ominously. "Did you also know that their affair never ended? That in fact, Lynn Echolls made regular visits to the city…_without_ her husband? And that shortly after Rob died, she took her own life?"

Locke dismisses my comments with a wave of his hand. "That's _pure_ speculation."

My fingers reach under my fake notes for one of Logan's sketches and I toss it across the table. "What about this?"

He takes out his glasses and his eyes narrow when he takes in the bold lines of Logan's sketch of Aunt Money, so eerily similar to Rob Hamilton's work that it is surely creeping him out. "_Where_ did you get this?" he asked stonily.

A tight smile stretches my mouth as I drop my next bomb. "From Rob's _son_."

Locke practically spits out his response. "Rob doesn't _have_ a son." He rifles in his drawer and shoves a photo at me.

I stare down at an attractive older woman and two young girls who sit stiff-jointed at her feet with pasted on smiles. It's an ordinary photo, but the sardonic look on the older girl's face is one I'd know anywhere. It's leered at me drunkenly from car windows and smirked at me from across the school newsroom. My hands start shaking as I push the photo back at him and ask, "When was this taken?"

He turns the photo over and smiles fondly at the inscription. "Just after Valerie's tenth birthday, so that had to be what…ten years ago?"

"Sounds like you know them well," I comment idly, hoping to draw him out a little more.

His nod jerks his head like a marionette's. "Used to fly out to the Vineyard every summer, but since Rob passed away, Allie has distanced herself from everyone."

I mutter a half-hearted apology, all the while watching his reaction as he returns his attention to Logan's drawing. When he finishes his inspection, Locke reiterates, "_Where_ did you get this?"

"Rob's son drew it," I state simply.

Locke rolls his eyes. "It's like I said, Rob has…"

My voice cuts him off. "You want to bet?" I open my wallet and fish out a wacky picture of Logan taken at the carnival. He's mugging for the camera and his expression is a mirror image of the older girl in the photo.

He pales as recognition sets in. "Omigod." Locke compares the two pictures and shoves them aside with a sick grimace. "I've seen enough."

It's not enough that he believes me, because Locke is the type that watches the world pass him by. "Is there anyone else I should talk to?"

Locke sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his thinning hair. "I don't know…maybe." He flips through his Rolodex and stops at an entry. "Bill Pasternak. Want his number?"

I nod my head and jot down a local exchange. "What's his connection to all this?"

He sighs again. "Bill is Aaron's #1 fan. If anybody knows what happened in those last few days, it's him."

"Thanks." I tuck my papers away and extend my hand, which is reluctantly shaken by Locke. "You've been very helpful."

Locke follows me to the sidewalk and stops me by saying, "You might want to lose the ID along the way, Miss Mars." I whirl around and see him pointing at a newspaper kiosk with my face plastered all over it. "You're not the only one who reads the tabloids."

Logan 

An entire day passes before I turn my phone back on. There is only one message from Veronica, and it's almost more than I can take to hear her voice cracking as she tells me about the Hamiltons.

_Logan, I know you told me...to stop investigating Aaron, but I can't let this go._

My lips curl into a smile as she throws down a brief summary of her visit to San Francisco. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend that she's here with me, surrounding me with a comforting blanket of snarkiness. But then she loses the 'tude and drops her only bit of news on my unsuspecting head.

_Looks like Rob was married with children. Might want to ask Money about Allie and her two daughters. _

My snort nearly drowns out Veronica's uncertain declaration of love and her promise to try me again tonight. Fucking Monique was as good as dead to me. Gone three days now without a trace. Just like all the others.

I look up at her erotic paintings and tear them off the walls. Without the slightest remorse, I drop kick a half dozen canvases across the room and fist the center of every last one of them. Before I can start in on her photos, the door swings open and Sally looks around with a sigh. "She's back."

My mouth opens and closes with a snap. "What? When?"

Sally motions me over to the window and points at a low white building near the water. "This morning. Try the lower level, but watch your back. She's got both barrels blazing."

With that advice ringing in my ears, I trot down to the dock and hear the muffled pop of a gun. It bangs six times on my way down the stairs. When I round the corner, I see Monique with pistols in both hands. Her eyes flick slightly in my direction before she tears a target in half, drawing a line down the center with her rapid fire. I grab some ear protectors and shuffle to her side, checking her motion with a downward swoop of my hand. She mouths a swear at me and engages the safety. Her wild red hair surrounds her head like a frightwig as she throws down her headset and makes a grab at her bottle of hooch.

"No fucking way," I yell, swatting at the bottle and watching it fragment into agate smithereens. "_Oops_." My hands come up to my face in mock horror and I giggle at her slightly insane glare.

Monique looks down at the pile of glass and sighs. "_That_ was a very good year."

I roll my eyes. "_Whatever_. "

She sags down to her haunches and shoves her guns into a corner. "_Aw_, I missed you too."

"Where the hell have you been?" Better to start small and work my way up to the big stuff.

Now it's her turn to look at the ceiling. "Here and there."

My retort sounds nastier than I intend. "Boning your way up and down the coast?"

Her mouth twists into a faint smile. "Don't I fucking wish." She straightens to her full height and lights a Gitane.

"You could have called. I know you don't give a shit about me, but Sally was worried."

Monique shakes her head. "You're _wrong_."

I nod my head in mock agreement. "Yeah, that running away thing gets me every time. Nice to know you're _totally_ there for me."

Her face flushes and before she drops her eyes, I catch a weird mix of anger and sorrow. "You _don't_ understand."

"So enlighten me," I counter flippantly.

Monique's lips twist oddly as she drags deeply on her cigarette. "This thing I have...when I go spiraling down, I need to be alone."

I pick up a glass fragment and sniff at it. "With a little help from your friends, right?"

"Nope." Her eyes are clear and I realize she couldn't possibly have released that spray of bullets in perfect precision if booze were part of the equation.

"So what is this, some kind of pacifier?" I should fucking talk. My hip flask used to never be far from my side, and I still mourn its loss.

Money's laugh crackles like kindling. "Naw. It's one of Dad's secret stashes. When Sally gets pissed at him and dumps out all his booze, he comes out here and wallows."

The place has the air of neglect and I'll warrant that dear old Dave hasn't wallowed in a long time. "Not so much anymore," I comment flatly, sensing that I've hooked her with my cryptic comment.

Monique cocks her head like a curious bird. "He's _always_ sulking out here."

"_Not_ today. In fact, he's flat on his back in Vineyard Haven."

Her eyes widen dramatically. "_What_?"

I should take pity on her, but that nasty part of me wants to strike like a cobra. "Heart attack."

She wrings her hands, and I see that despite her earlier malaise at seeing her family estate, deep concern is flooding her eyes. Money loves the old bastard, but she would never admit that to anyone. "_Again_?"

I shrug like none of this matters to me. "Apparently."

Monique lights up another cigarette and inhales it absently as she picks at her cuticle. "Christ, will he never learn?" She adds a few choice words in French that are punctuated by 'bah' and 'asshole'. "I should go to him."

"And do what, watch him drooling into a pillow?" There I go shooting off my mouth again.

To my amazement, she chortles and says, "Hold that thought, because that'll be you in about fifty years."

I still want to punish someone for the sins of my parents, and it might as well be her. "Haha, that is fucking hilarious. Want to hear another one? There's this artist who liked to fuck two sisters before he went home to the little wife and kids. Talk about having your cake and _eating_ it too."

Her green eyes harden at my tone. "I was _going_ to tell you."

"_Yeah_? In what lifetime?"

She lowers her head and digs at the floor with one foot. The gesture is so familiar that it takes me a few seconds to recognize it as one of my own. With a shudder, I push that revelation aside and watch as she digs her fingers into her hair and starts pacing. "In case you haven't guessed..." pace, pace..."I suck at this heart on a sleeve crap."

"And you think that excuses you for turning your back on me?" It sounds like the spoiled whine of a poor little rich boy, but she instantly picks up on the pain that percolates through my complaint.

Money shakes her head. "Absolutely not." Again her fingers go into her hair and only stop when I grab her hand and stop its agitated motion. She looks at this rather tenuous connection and squeezes back fiercely before dropping her hand to her side. "I should probably go see Dave."

"Want me to drive?"

"Thanks, but I need to clear my head." Monique picks up the guns and hands them to me. "Lock up when you're done?"

"Sure." I watch as she sashays to the stairs, throwing me a tiny smile before disappearing from view. A door opens and I wait for the inevitable sound of it closing again, but that moment never comes. The old wood floor creaks overhead and I hear a muttered curse before something falls heavily to the floor. The guns fall from my hands as I take the stairs two at a time and stop dead at the sight of Monique's sprawled body, blood pooling on the floor near her head. She is very still and in dread, I start to reach for her. But I am stopped by a shadow falling across my arm. I look up with a squint and see a dark shape outlined against the window. "Who are you?" I growl hoarsely.

A low laugh rumbles through the dusty air and my hackles rise in instant recognition. "Hello, son. Miss me?"

Aaron 

Logan rushes at him blindly and doesn't see Aaron's outstretched foot and helping hand. With Aaron's guidance, Logan flies headlong into the wall and smashes his arm with a satisfying snap, crackle, and pop. When his son looks up at him in the murky light, his ebony eyes are darker than a moonless night. With a disgusted sneer, Logan tries once again to go to Monique but Aaron thwarts him with his bulked out physique. "Get the fuck out of my way," Logan blusters, trying to elbow his way past Aaron and only stopping when his left arm refuses to obey him.

"Payback's a bitch," Aaron says with a widening grin as he surveys his captive audience. "But don't worry, the best is yet to come."

Logan glares at him with the blistering heat of a thousand suns. "Who left the cage open?"

Aaron shakes his head with a beatific smile. "My _wonderful_ fans."

Logan smirks and folds his good hand to his chest. "Ah, all that _heartfelt_ sincerity. _Truly_ an Oscar-worthy performance."

Aaron's smile slips slightly. "Did you really think you could escape from me?"

His son's smirk never wavers. "Never gave it much thought, dude."

He almost feels hurt at being relegated to dude status, but Aaron figures that it's a notch above asshole. Things are _definitely_ looking up. Aaron looks down at Monique and back at Logan. "All of this could have been avoided, you know."

Logan nods like he totally gets it. "Here it comes," he says drolly.

The lightness in Logan's voice is more than a little unsettling. "I could have helped you, Logan." He looks around at the dusty room and spares another glance at Monique's unmoving frame. "It should _never_ have come to this."

Logan starts giggling like a lunatic. "God, do you _hear_ yourself? This is a hundred times worse than that script you wrote for Mom."

Aaron's fingers tighten and he wonders what Logan's face will resemble after he rearranges it. "Leave her out of this, Logan. This is between you and me."

The first blow takes him by surprise and blood spills out of his nose, but he's ready for Logan when his fist comes arcing back. Aaron's hand shoots up and catches Logan under the chin, followed by a flurry of perfectly timed kicks and jabs that sends his son crashing into the solid oak bulkhead. Blood bubbles from Logan's mouth as he stares up defiantly and snarls, "Is that all you got, asshole?"

Logan

My vision is going black, but I have to get to Monique, have to know that she's all right. Everything I touch… everyone I know, _fucking_ dies on me, but it's _not_ going to happen to her. She's already had her share of close scrapes and I figure she's used up most of her nine lives. Monique's all I have left…my only link to my real parents, and I'll be damned if I let some crazy ass bastard take her away from me.

I stay hunkered near the wall and decide to throw some of my own acting skills in his direction. When I sway back and let my skull clack into the wood, only part of it's pretend play. Aaron raises his leg to kick me in the head, but is thrown off balance when my hands whip out and toss him to the floor. It's only a momentary advantage, because like the predatory snake, he quickly slithers back into attack position and strikes at my mid-section. Next thing I know, I'm flying through the air and time seems to slow down when I crash into Monique, teeth biting down into the tender flesh of my tongue. I spit away the acrid taste of blood and scrabble around for her wrist so I can check her pulse. But Aaron thwarts me again when he stomps on my hand, waiting until I go all Rice Krispies on him. With a laugh, he shakes his head and waggles a finger at me. "You never learn, do you, Logan?"

I try getting to my knees, but he hooks his foot under my leg and grins when I fall onto my broken fingers and loose an inadvertent howl of pain. It quickly gets worse when he puts all his weight on my back and snickers when I writhe in agony. I'm about to roll off my stomach when I feel a faint tug on my shirt. When I look down, I see Monique's finger moving imperceptibly and that tiny movement fills me with the hope that maybe this will turn out all right. But my delay has cost me dearly, for Aaron is at me again, rolling me over and crouching over his prey with a feral grin. "You got something to say to me?"

My throat tightens in rage and prevents me from speaking for a few seconds. He leans closer and when he's within biting distance, I spit out, "I hear you like to hold them down."

Aaron shoves his forearm across my windpipe and I start to see stars. "Like this?" My lungs burn with the need for oxygen, and I push him off with only the force of my will for a weapon. "Is that how you took Lily out, or was it one of your sick fantasies with you as the star?"

He leans over and whispers, "She was as much a player as me, son."

That three-letter word is the final straw, fueling my anger as I twist my neck and head butt his nose with all my might. A crimson tide gushes from his nose and I butt him again as I yell, "I'm _not_ your son, you motherfucker."

Duncan 

My head lolls back against the seat as I ask blearily, "Where we going again?"

Valerie half laughs and reaches over to ruffle my hair. "To find your friend Logan."

"Oh, right." It's hard to focus on anything other than the pain, so I put my head in my hands and blot out the light with my fingers. She turns the radio on to some soothing jazz station that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. After an interminable melange of farting trumpets and lightly brushed skins, I groan, "Are we there yet?"

She doesn't answer me for a moment and I turn to see that she's on a cell phone. With a frown, she looks over at me and says, "Sally and Dave aren't answering."

My eyebrows rise slightly. "Sally and Dave?"

Valerie closes the phone with a sigh. "They're Logan's grandparents."

"Maybe they're still on travel."

Her luxuriant dark hair sways from side to side as she shakes her head. "They've been back for a few days. Dave came down for a few beers the other night, and Sally's in for breakfast most mornings. And even when they're not in, somebody _always_ answers the phone."

"Maybe we should check on them," I suggest, wanting to allay the fear that she's trying to keep at bay.

"Would you mind very much?" Valerie asks anxiously. "We can stop by Monique's right after that."

"Not at all." It's not like I had anything else to do, right? With an odd little laugh that resonates mockingly, I add, "And who knows? Maybe we'll run into Logan after all."

Veronica 

The #1 fan is a first class nut job. Aaron's pictures are plastered all over his walls and one hideous floor to ceiling poster from _Beyond the Breaking Point_ oozes menace. I turn my back on his smoldering malice and decide that standing is better than braving Bill Pasternak's greasy looking Barcalounger. He spits out stringy tales of Aaron's glory days through mouthfuls of Parmesan and pepperoni. As he tears into his third slice of Domino's finest, I ask, "I understand he was friends with Rob Hamilton?"

"_Friends_?" He raises a lint-flecked eyebrow and stares at me like I'm from Mars (haha).

I mirror his expression with a half smile. "Yeah. Word on the street is that they were really tight."

Bill snorts. "That's one word for it."

My eyebrows rise even higher. "What would you call it?"

His grin fades slightly. "Good publicity."

Wow. Total honesty from a BNF is completely unexpected. For a moment, I waver between phony sympathy and sardonic laughter and finally settle for the compromise of a strained smile. "But all that money he donated…"

He cuts in on the trailing edge of my suggestion, "Looked good on his tax return."

"Ah." I nod like it suddenly all makes sense and complete my illusion of the clueless blonde bimbo. "Hot, _and_ financially savvy." My hand waves at my face like I'm about to faint and I know I've passed go when Bill beckons me over to his Aaron shrine. I make the appropriate noises in all the right places and nod my head like a marionette. But inside my stomach is churning and I only manage to avoid barfing by turning my head away from the picture of Logan, Lily, and Aaron posing at Mann's Chinese Theatre.

Bill offers me a soda and I accept it from his slippery fingers. "You need anything else for your article?"

I'm posing as a journalism student writing about celebrity crime. "What about Lynn Echolls?"

He sighs. "A lost cause."

"In what way?"

Bill sniggers at my feigned ignorance. "In _every_ way. When she wasn't drinking or getting off, she was fucking the help."

My pencil scribbles some gibberish on my pad. "And the son?"

"Doesn't fall far from the tree."

Anger hovers at the periphery of my show of teeth. "Think he'll beat his rap?"

"Which one?" He jams his fingers into his comb-over and looks at a yellowed headline from Neptune that features side-by-side photos of Logan and Aaron.

I cap my pen and wind it through the metal spirals of my notebook, realizing that my question is open to interpretation. "The umm…murder thingie?"

"Probably. As for that private dick and his daughter, the most he'll get is a slap on the wrist and a few months in the cooler."

That's hardly a comforting thought. "When's the last time you saw him?"

Bill scratches at his ear. "I dunno, maybe a week ago?"

Fuck! I have to warn Logan that Aaron is on the loose. With a mutter that approaches thanks, I excuse myself and part ways with Aaron's repulsive BNF.

Logan

His dark eyes glare at me like dull chips of anthracite as he covers his broken nose. "You'll pay for that, _son_."

This is a moment for a dramatic show of hands and a skip, but I might fall over and never get up again, so I pass on the dramatics and taunt, "Something wrong with your hearing, dude? I'm not your fucking kid."

Aaron ignores my jibe and snorts when I shuffle out of reach. "What's the point, Logan? You can't escape. I cut the phone lines and slashed everyone's tires. No one's going _anywhere_."

I snarl, "Then I'll take you down with me."

"Sure you will." He gestures at my useless hands and cracks a grin. "Take your best shot."

Aaron expects a frontal assault, so he never sees the blur of explosive movement at his left flank. He turns and Monique's red hair whips his face as she jumps straight up and kicks him in the head. "Bastard," she yells.

His neck snaps back and I hear something crack when her other foot catches him under the chin. I stumble forward to help but her palm stops me in mid-stride. "Guns," she hisses in my ear and before I can protest, she shoves me in the direction of the stairs. "_Now_."

I make the mistake of looking back and see a flash of steel in Aaron's hand as it arcs to meet her face.

Aaron 

Aaron has waited for this moment for years. He's plotted it down to the placement of hands and feet, choreographing every act and movement.

In Act Four, Scene Two, he slices through her fine silk shirt and admires her gorgeous tits. And in Act Five, Scene Three, he fucks her senseless and buries his knife in her chest as she climaxes, her green eyes dimming as the life drains from her.

But Monique is following a different script, and he barely moves his arm before her left hand comes up fast and sends the blade spinning out of reach. When he starts to bend toward his other knife, she kicks him in the groin and does a happy dance when he falls to his knees.

He holds up one hand in mock surrender and smiles broadly, knowing this is his finest moment. "I give up. You win." His other hand curls under him and fetches his pistol from his boot.

She rolls her eyes and mutters, "Enculé." In the split second that she shifts her attention toward the ceiling, he raises his hidden hand and pulls the trigger.

Logan 

I'm halfway down the stairs when the gun goes off. In one of those strange moments when time seems to stand still, I keep moving down, only stopping at the bottom when a second shot ricochets off the bulkhead ceiling.

It's pitch black down here, but when I half stumble over Money's cache of elite weapons, I figure my luck must be changing. With my two good fingers I lift up a Glock and brace it under my armpit while I shove in a clip.

I shamble back toward the main drama and feel something vibrate on my left hip. It sure ain't my pocket rocket, so that leaves my trusty Sidekick. And wouldn't you know, it's Veronica Mars on the other end, with her usual impeccable timing. I know I can't talk, but maybe she can listen in and gather some evidence. My pinkie jams painfully against the Talk button as I weave my way up the stairs to my ultimate destiny. In yet another instance of impeccable timing, the door in front of me bangs back against the wall and Duncan steps in, staring at my shaking gun hand with bemusement.

Duncan

I don't know what the fuck we've walked into, but it's bad. Sally is lying in a jigsaw puzzle of glass and blood and just barely manages to point toward the ocean and say, "Aaron...hurry."

Valerie stays behind to call 911 and take care of Sally.

I follow a rocky path down a steep incline, stumbling and swearing as I slip on the wet stones. My feet skid to a halt when I hear a gun go off at close range. There are a few buildings on the vast property, but I'm pretty sure the sound came from a modest white building near the dock.

There is only one door, and I start to rush through it, only stopped by the sight of Logan staring back at me in horror. Blood is streaming from multiple wounds on Logan's face and his fingers are twisted at weird angles around a fucking cannon that would make Dirty Harry proud. "'Bout time," he mutters, tossing the gun at me and sliding to one side, letting me take the helm for the first and possibly the last time.

Veronica

Listening to gunshots and the muffled sound of Logan's bruised voice is beyond fucked. It's the kind of surreal that would only be at home in an Escher painting.

The good guys are losing, and there's nothing I can do about it.

And it only gets worse when I hear Duncan's low murmur of assent.

"Talk to me," I cry desperately, not caring that the frumpy woman on the aisle is giving me the evil eye.

The line cuts out and I throw in a 'fuck' for good measure, smiling tartly when the woman hisses her disapproval and finds her way to the back of the bus. My next call is to the only person who can make a difference...but it's all for nothing because Dad isn't picking up.

Logan

DK stares at me for the space of a few heartbeats and then grabs the gun. He is wobbling like a drunk, but at this point, just about anyone is in better shape than me. With two ruined hands, my best shot will probably ricochet off the wall and paint a perfect circle on my sweaty brow.

If things were different, and I could lapse into mise-en-scène mode, I'd remark on the general murkiness and the way his azure eyes cut through the haze like a light saber, taking in the entire situation with a quick pan and scan.

There are two shadowy figures engaged in a deadly dance, one muttering and cursing in French and the other laughing maniacally.

_Aaron and Monique, fighting it out to the end._

DK decides to cut in, drawing Aaron's attention with a Spanish curse that rolls off his tongue with the easy familiarity of long use.

Aaron starts to say, "Well, look who the cat…" but he never gets to finish that thought.

The gun's muzzle flashes multiple times and I watch through crimson-stained hands as bullets carve a third eye in Aaron's forehead and drill an extra set of nipples in his heaving chest.

His mouth opens and closes, but gravity wins out and steals the show.


	6. Cover me with Flowers

**Title**: Free at Last  
**Author**: Peregrine  
**Characters**: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.  
**Spoilers**: Through Episode 22.  
**Word Count**: 1250  
**Rating**: R for sex, language, and violence.  
**Summary**: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.  
**Disclaimer**: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.

**Chapter Six: Cover me in Flowers**

_I can offer nothing  
This nothing's everlasting_

Logan

Some things never change.

The flashbulbs go off as I leave the hospital, alone and rather pissed that I can't escape the bastard. His notoriety has chased me from beyond the grave and made my life a living hell. Everywhere I turn, the press is there, begging for a story and snapping away with their fancy digicams.

_Am I ready to recant my statement about how it all went down?_

_Do I honestly believe that my art has a chance with the notoriously fickle art world?_

I should be gone from this place, but Monique has just barely crossed over to stable condition as of this morning.

Aaron was using hollow point bullets, and the one that felled her could have taken down a bull elephant at 50 paces. It tore through her lung and caused massive internal injuries before embedding itself into her spine.

Her doctor is the best in the country, but he's not confident that she'll walk again.

Money is uncharacteristically silent about the whole affair, but the stubborn gleam in her mossy eyes gives me hope that she'll come back to us swinging.

As for Grandpa Dave, he's back home and bitching about everything. He plays a mean hand of Texas Hold 'Em and can definitely drink me under the table. Oh, right, forget that last part. I'm a dry kind of guy now, but I can only imagine inhaling Laphroag like he does.

A black limo awaits me at the front entrance and I hop into its cool, leather interior, catching my half sib Valerie and Duncan in a rather compromising position. With an amused cough, I look away while they rearrange themselves and wait for the inevitable question.

"Is Veronica really coming tonight?"

Fuck, I sure hope so. Her flight is due in an hour and I can't wait to see her.

Veronica

I hate puddle jumpers. On the way over from Boston to the Vineyard, we hit a nasty squall line that leaves my stomach in Cape Cod Bay.

We land with a chorus of Amens and white-knuckled passengers deplane quickly, leaving me at the back of the queue.

My feet finally touch the tarmac and I almost sink to the ground in relief.

Before I can cave, I am swept into a strong pair of arms and my mouth is forced open by a ravenous tongue. My body molds itself to his and I shamelessly cup his delicious ass as I kiss him back, going full throttle with my teeth and lips, trailing my mouth down his neck and finally stopping when his chest rumbles in laughter. "I miss you too, babe."

I butt his chest and raise my finger to admonish him, but our moment is stolen by the sudden appearance of Duncan and his new squeeze, fingers tightly interlocked as they walk up to us.

Duncan's face is slightly pink and I somehow doubt that it's from the thin Eastern sunlight causing the flush on his cheeks. "Hey, Veronica," he says. "This is Valerie Hamilton."

Her dark eyes sparkle with merriment and when she offers a tentative smile, I see a fleeting resemblance to Logan. "Nice to meet you."

Valerie looks at her watch and says, "Hey, we have to fly or we'll be late for the party." She pulls on Duncan's hand like an impatient puppy.

God, the last thing I want right now is being forced to flash a fake smile at a bunch of strangers. "Party?" I echo unhappily.

They walk ahead of us and Logan murmurs, "Don't worry. I have a plan."

Logan

She smells like orange blossoms and tastes like sunshine.

I circle the shell of her ear with my tongue and murmur, "I miss your _Promises_."

Veronica vibrates with laughter. "The ones that I break or the ones that I…"

My mouth silences her and the rest of me undulates against her peach-tanned skin, jamming every hardened inch of me into her core. Over and over we go, her legs rising higher with each thrust. We are completely perpendicular when she loses control, screaming my name and ending with a crescendo of _ohgodohgod _that is carried away by the sea breeze.

I twist her on top of me and smile when her hair tickles my face. "Hello," I say huskily, grinding her hips against me and losing my own sanity on the third rotation.

Veronica's blue eyes sparkle down at me and I swear she's game for another round of hide the salami. With a mad giggle, I pull her to me and devour her pouting lips with mine, laving each corner and sucking on her luscious lower lip for a delicious moment. I make a face when she withdraws, but it quickly turns to a grin when her fingers wrap around my cock and prime the pump for another delicious fuck.

Veronica

It's barely dawn and we're lying in a pool of our own sweat on the deck of Monique's boat.

The rising sun limns the hair on his chest and turns him into an ocean of gold that stretches from his collarbone to well below his navel. I follow the tide with greedy laps of my tongue and only stop when he tweaks my left breast. "Think you're pretty hot, don't you, Mars?" he murmurs, teasing the rising mound of my right nipple with his mouth and sucking it between his lips with a greedy smack.

My guh is torn from me when he thumbs my clit and lays a line of saliva under and around each nipple. He breaks my fall with his arms and drills into me for a fifth…or is it a sixth time? We've fucked so hard and so long that I'm raw from the inside out, but still I can't get enough of him.

Logan

The boat has drifted all day, but I think we're pretty close to where we need to be.

She is glued to my side, freely caressing my chest and my biceps as I steer the boat.

We approach a spit of land and I kill the motor. "Here."

Veronica asks, "What's so special about this place?"

I help her onto the sand and start following a well-trodden path. "Come on."

The trail is wide enough to walk in tandem and I wrap my left arm around her waist. "Are we there yet?" she says with a mock whine.

"Yeah." The path ends abruptly and nearly dumps us over a cliff. "This is perfect."

Veronica settles down on a rock while I fetch Mom's lighter from my pocket. The flame burns brightly against the twilight

I fetch the lighter from my right pocket and adjust the flame. It burns brightly against the twilight as I say, "This was Mom's favorite place."

"It's beautiful."

With a grimace, I throw the lighter as hard as I can and watch it flicker and die as it hits the surf.

She takes my hand and we walk up the path together.

_Free at last_.

The End


End file.
